There is a country inside every person where the unsaid things go to live.
You don’t remember sending them there. You just remember the moment: your mouth opened, and something older and braver than you stood up in your throat, and you swallowed it like a coin. It’s fine. It’s nothing. Never mind. And down it went, into the country.
Nobody tells you the unsaid things don’t die. They gather. They build. They hold elections. By thirty, there’s a whole government in your ribs, and it passes laws you never voted for: don’t ask for more. Don’t be too loud. Don’t want it where people can see. You think that’s your personality. It’s not. It’s the country.
I met a man who hadn’t told his father I’m proud of you in forty years. It had grown teeth. When he finally opened his mouth at the hospital bed, it came out as a cough, and the old man said “what?” and he said “nothing,” and that was the funeral, right there, a whole life folded into the word nothing.
Here’s what I know. The tongue is a door built to open outward, and we spend our lives leaning on it from the inside.
So say it. Say the stupid, shaking, too-late-already, imperfect thing. Say I miss you to the one who left. Say I’m scared to the one who stayed. Say I wanted it out loud, in a room with the lights on. Let it come out wrong. Let your voice crack like a dropped plate. A cracked sentence still reaches the other person. A perfect silence never gets delivered.
Because one day your body will be a house with the doors finally open, and everything you never said will walk out through the front, in a line, calm, like it had been waiting for you to leave to be free.
And no one will hear it. That’s the part that should keep you up at night.
Say it while someone is still alive to hear.
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142,213 Literary Works • 676,880 Reviews
The impact of this is beautiful. I really enjoyed reading this and I don’t think I have any criticisms of this. The short anecdote in the middle, about the man who had died never telling his father what he wanted to say also added a lot to it, saying “I met a man” makes it even more personal, like you’re retelling an experience(which you totally might be). The beginning of this writing, where you introduce a country as an allegory(?) helps a lot to making the reader think more. What do you first think of when you think of a country? Something individual and whole, a group of people, a group of opinions. This is built upon with the imagery of elections and voting, showing how slowly depriving yourself of expression can grow on you like a whole second person inside you, working against yourself.
The last two paragraphs explain what exactly you mean by “say it”. Say it, even if it comes out wrong, even if you can’t say it while still being “fine”. This part of the piece encourages readers to freely express themselves, in a world where it isn't always socially acceptable to do so. The last sentence is really impactful, and it leaves great closure and a call to action.
This writing is beautiful, so much so that I don’t think there are any flaws that I could possibly find. I really like this work and I want you to know that your writing had a really big impact on how I think about myself. Thank you! Thank you for writing this, and thanks for reading my analysis. I hope you like it!
Hey Lilly!!♡
GIRL, THIS ONE HURTS. There is something horrifyingly real about how the things that we do not say, eventually define who we are. I absolutely adore how u managed to give a country and people living inside a person's head. Great job and beautiful metaphor, which, by the way u expand wonderfully through this story.
This part here really got me by the throat:
Like what the man said about the things we think defines us, not actually being that. That it is merely the reflection of countless things that have hurt, desired, and been disappointed with us for years.
Something about the story that resonated particularly hard with me was the part where the man told the father's story. How sometimes, it seems that there will always be a chance to say what is on ur heart, and then it flashes away right when u need it the most.
I also greatly admired the part where u said that perhaps a cracked sentence may get somewhere while a perfectly shaped one may remain unheard. Such a beautiful way of putting it!
And although I think that this ending is absolutely heartbreaking, it is perfectly fitting for this beautiful piece. It is a wonderful reminder that sometimes, the cracks are where the most beautiful things come from! Such a splendid job, Lilly!! <3
Lovely work!!♡
~hira ♡