Sometimes I feel that there are no words for how I feel about you, and I wonder if perhaps languages were birthed this way; that maybe primeval humans, angry and frustrated at the inadequacy of gestures, were forced to utter sounds, except they still couldn’t find full expression of their affection, and so they uttered more sounds, grunted, formed babel with the shape of their mouths, smacked tongues against teeth, until words were born, and yet they still fell short, and so they uttered more words, categorized into nouns, verbs, adjectives; little nuggets of noise strung together by what, hey look -- FANBOYS! Then, they saw this garland of words, and thought wow, what strange, what newfangled beauty, and there were tournaments to see who can string them the best; so then the feelings got lost in excited interjections, and they forgot what it was that they had wanted to say; then, they thought maybe it didn’t matter because now they have this thing, this wondrous thing called language, and I bet it must be like inventing the pen, typewriter, telephone, the internet; how someone fell in love or ached to connect doing something other than make noise or grab body parts to contain meaning-- raw, abundant, refusing to be tamed. This, I know. I like being silent with you and watching you sleep or feeling your gaze upon my body, and knowing that in those silences, the truth lies, uncorrupted by words.