To speak, or to die?

This quote has haunted me for the past nine weeks. I used to think I understood what it meant, but lately, it has become a question that I constantly find myself answering in the worst possible ways: Is it better to speak, or to die?

Oftentimes, especially lately, I find myself regretting having spoken. I kick myself for the rejection and embarrassment that follows. For having laid myself and my emotions bare, only for it to mean nothing and go nowhere.

Part of the problem is the impulse behind the words. There is a delicate, critical line between speaking out of pure panic and speaking with measured intention.

I find myself wondering: is it possible to find a perfect combination of words that would seemingly fix everything? There is truly an infinite number of words to put together; is it too far-fetched to believe that there is one hidden combination that would work? Every lock has a key, right? 

The tragic catch is that searching for that key takes time, time that real-life conversations rarely afford. Choosing to speak means accepting the heavy chance of regret, rejection, and heartbreak. You cannot send a message, leave a voicemail, or mail a letter with only an expectation of a quick repair. 

And yet, keeping silent with someone who used to know everything about you carries its own quiet burden. Is it better to withhold your feelings just to spare someone else the weight of them?

Both choices carry the threat of regret. Staying silent can leave you agonizing over what might have been different if you had chosen to speak, letting unspoken thoughts rot you from the inside out.

But maybe silence isn't entirely useless. Is it truly silence if you are just taking the time to find the right key? Even if it's a key that may never be found? 

xoxo, sugarbear