words are all i have

it was not so that F would have not wanted to talk. he had no particular desire to hide his opinions from the world, or to shy away from a conversation; there also were no odd principals or manners lodged in the back of his head that would have prohibited him from partaking in a debate or sharing his views when asked about them.

it was merely so that he did not have the words to do so. when engaged in a conversation -- often against his will -- inside his head formed a void more silent than the space that encloses the planet. a quietness so complete that any disturbance, be it in the form of a general question or an inquiry of his opinion, was swallowed into it on the second the sound waves reached the insides of his head. F did not know how it felt to have something to say as nothing had ever evoked a response in him, and it sometimes puzzled him whether this incapability to form meaningful words and sentences meant that he was slightly stupid. it must be said the he probably wasn't, at least when measured on the traditional standards -- it was this complete lack of words that sealed his lips, not the lack of activity in his brain.

perhaps it was so that he wasn't interested in the topics, or the people discussing the topics. maybe he was shy, or afraid he would say something stupid, or maybe it was something else entirely; but whatever the reason was, it was not conscious and F was most certainly not aware of it. the only thing he was aware of was the thought that rotated in his head like a hamster in a cage every time his vocal participation was fro some reason or another expected -- the almost panicked thought of how to get out of the situation, when would he have stayed long enough as of not to be considered rude to leave, how much longer would he have to maintain the facade that was the calmness of his face.

his friends -- well, acquaintances really -- sometimes accused him of being ignorant, or nihilist, or even deliberately eccentric. they characterized him as shy, enigmatic, timid, mysterious, thoughtful, annoying -- depending very much on how they themselves happened to be feeling. and it always made F wonder why there were so many words in the world for someone like him, for someone who lacked them; and why did other people have such a need to define him through them. words didn't come to him so he didn't want to belong to them either;  he did not want to be something that was unable to cause any kind of reaction in him.

but in the end he was also very well aware that none of it mattered. it made no difference whether he was labelled as this instead of that, just as it didn't matter whether he was able to form and utter words to deliver his passing thought of some irrelevant issue. because it was only words, always only words; and words, as we know, have very little to do with what is real.