If Only They Knew

The tragedy of saving our deepest words for those who can no longer hear them

“People have beautiful things to say about you, but you must die first.” It is a cruel irony of human nature that appreciation often arrives too late.

While we are alive, our flaws are noticed, our mistakes remembered, and our efforts taken for granted. Yet when we are gone, people suddenly speak of our kindness, our strength, and the quiet ways we touched their hearts.

Why is it such a difficult task for us to express ourselves, to spit out the words our minds are begging us to let go of when we were made to speak, to let go of everything that weighs us down?

Why do we find it so hard to say what we really, deeply want to confess, simply because of the fear of judgement or rejection? “Is it better to speak or to die?” It should not even be a comparison to begin with.

I mean, I do know what it feels like when you need to tell someone something so important, so special, that it feels as if you will simply pass out if you let the words escape.

But at the end of the day, we always make it out, don’t we? We survive the vulnerability, the uncertainty, and whatever answer comes after. So why do we keep choosing silence when the things left unsaid often weigh far heavier than the words themselves?

What good is it to tell someone how special they are, how beautiful, how important, how bright they are in your eyes, after the light in theirs has already disappeared?

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As humans, we live for words, for care, for the slightest acknowledgment that yes, we are being seen, that we are not alone, that we can survive even when the whole world has gone dim.

When the lights cut off, even the tiniest flicker can lead one home. A single word, a simple act of kindness, a reminder that someone cares can be enough to keep a person going.

Yet we save our gentlest words for eulogies, our deepest admiration for gravestones, and our loudest praise for those who can no longer hear it. Why do we wait until someone is gone to give them the very things they may have needed to stay?

I myself am somehow a hypocrite in this matter, if I must confess. I hold just as many unsaid things, so many letters written to names I have never been brave enough to actually send. I do wonder what it would be like if I finally did.

Would I finally feel my heart lighten? Would it beat a little faster, or would it slow down? Would I become better because I had finally let go of the things and words that will always haunt me, no matter how far ahead I go? Or would I finally become honest enough to smile wide and bright?

Perhaps that is what scares me the most, not rejection, not judgment, but the possibility that after carrying these words for so long, I would no longer know who I am without them. Yet a part of me still wonders if freedom has always been waiting on the other side of simply pressing send.

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When did feelings become such secretive things? When did we lose the ability to be honest and let ourselves breathe? Why do we overcomplicate words that were meant to be held gently? Why do we wrap them in fear until they become heavy enough to suffocate us?

Why do we hold back confessions as if they are something ugly and painful, only revealing them when the other person’s world has already become ugly and painful, when they have long forgotten how to breathe? Why do we suffocate ourselves to the point of grief and pain? What good are words when they never reach the ears they were meant for?

I want to hear those confessions that people hold for me, the ones they will let go of on the day of my funeral and afterwards. I don’t want to hear the barest of words like “I care” or “you matter.” I want the deepest, rawest hate, love, regret, and pain you hold. I want to hear the vengeance, I want to hear how and why you care, why I matter, what I mean to you.

Love that cannot be felt has to be expressed, otherwise how can one know that they are something to you? What good is your love if the other person has to die for it to finally be spoken aloud? What good would my words be if I hold them until either I or they are no longer able to say or hear them? Why must we suffer when we can simply take a deep breath and speak?

What comes after will be better than dying with the knowledge that you were unable to say something you felt so deeply. Be bold, for once, and let yourself breathe.