‘Talk to me,’ he said.

Our vocal cords strung together like wet rope that had held a ship close to shore a day too long. If we would let go now, not only sound would drown, but we would also exhale control, losing our voice to call it to come back to us. If someone would be able to sow a flag from the letters H E and L P, we couldn’t even plant it as a banner, because of.. because of.. because of what actually?

It wasn’t the talking he specifically asked. Nor the talking to. It was the me that had the emphasis. Or perhaps it was just his voice that gave the sentence importance. Knowing him he needn’t see us balancing our vocal cords, holding a speer to prevent our smile from collapsing, as if it was the pole that held up the tent that Sarah was hiding behind laughing – perhaps in unbelief – at Gods promise of a child, as if it resembled the speer that would one day pierce another promised child. If only it would pierce us, we would use the wet color to write on walls, not talking in words, but talking in cries.

‘Talk to me,’ he said again.

He gave us a secret language to use, that was as if we were covered by a veil, making us not invisible, but inaudible, and therefore invisible to everything around us, if only we would close our eyes to it. A secret language, derived from and having direct relation with that white stone that he had in mind, and already laid down, if it were possible even stronger than the cornerstone he used to build his house with, replacing tents for something so much stronger, a promise that would come into being, with a whiteness that was as special as the name that was written on it, to be known only by me and him. That name had the same length as the language he gave us, no vocal balancing needed, speer broken.

We couldn’t even say thank you. The words would cut through glass, rather making it bleed than us. When glass shatters it cries too. We couldn’t even say thank you for yesterday, for beginnings outside of time so it would be a certainty we never had to worry about seconds lost, for he would collect those seconds as he does tears. Not sure if it was us in that ship, or us standing on the shore.

‘Let go of the rope,’ he said, ‘and you’ll find out.’