Your Words and Mine

for the quiet writer…

…

You and I are quite different.

You speak loud and fast, but with inherent eloquence. I plan my words like a presentation, rehearsing them to exhaustion.

When…if I ever manage to actually produce coherent speech, it’s unnatural, insincere, apathetic, or cold.

But I want to share my thoughts; I think they’re worth listening to…

Even if your ideas are mundane, unoriginal, or lack a single shred of insight, people can’t help but stop and listen. It’s the way your words pour out—like striking, aged wine. Yours is the booming voice of humanity. Commanding and full of life, how can we help but give it our full attention?

Mine is meek. I could hardly fill a cup with my voice, let alone a room.

Emotion, anecdote, pathos, fluidity—you are an orator. You capture us with your stories, break us with your humor, strand us with your questions, sway us with your arguments…

Then what am I?

I’m methodical. I’m cautious and intentional. Impulsivity and emotion, I carefully consider. I can’t speak the way you can. I’m no champion of the microphone or protector of the podium.

But perhaps I can be equally eloquent… Perhaps my voice is simply not for the ears—but for the eyes. Perhaps, I too, can convince, entertain, and intrigue with my words.

Yes, you are an orator. Maybe I never will be. But give me a pen, and I’ll show you my voice.