Prose by Sam Yang - Get similar updates here
The beauty of words, sonorous and rich, textured and disarming, ineffable yet clear. When they leave the lips, they grow wings — lithe and flowing, a life of their own. Why are we so enchanted? The beauty of words is the beauty of becoming. So fine. They influence our moods, illuminate our thoughts, and give light to the unbearable. Here, a feeling, and given to words, it becomes sorrow, bittersweet, a word for love when love is lacking. And it pangs, the epiphany of being, when the visceral is made vivid — but when intuition is given shape and form comes closure and mourning elegy. Words define solitude and words relieve us of solitude, that a word exists, and others feel what we feel, so much so that the most ethereal feelings are given the highest eloquence. Words are elixirs, pure and effervescent. It is jazz, cool to the touch yet iridescent. Where black ameliorates to blue and a single word informs my world. Superfluous, a word so beguiling it is quintessential. Not for the sake of brevity but as a matter of taste. Words are more than vessels for meaning. They sizzle. A hush of the lips, a hiss of the tongue. Hypnotic — the word itself is hypnotizing. And cellar door — luscious, flirtatious, delicious. Novelists know to keep their secrets beyond it — for once we hear that alluring combination, we acquiesce. That is the solemnity of language. Where hiraeth and halcyon converge to form nostalgia to a time that does not exist. A shire of imagination. And wanderlust, a longing for nostalgia that has not yet happened. And in the quotidian of everyday comes sonder. Strangers with inner lives as exquisite and vibrant as ours and to never know them — these creatures of brilliant, delicate charm. Basking in their tender grace for that ephemeral moment, but never exceeding its elegance. Into the apogee. Yet this melancholia evokes the serendipity of the ordinary. The sky becomes serene; a pool, peaceful; a neck, supple; a glance, demure; and a smile, winsome. Beholden. Blooming. In delight of day. Where the heart warms. Incandescent. The light of a solid that is heated until it glows. Radiating. So hot that it melts deep affection. And even that is an understatement. To truly know it, there are no words. A beautiful word seduces, it draws want, but life is experiential, and it is meant to be lived. Savor it.