Oxy-moron

My 12 year old daughter asked me the other day to give her an example of an oxy-moron. She didn’t ask me to explain what it was, she knows that, she asked me to give an example. And, boy, is it ever harder to give an original example of an oxy-moron than it is to explain it.

All I could think of was the ubiquitous “bad angel” and “fine mess”. She watched me suffer, in silence, for a bit then told me her favourite. Deafening silence.

And I thought, why didn’t I think of that?

I live in deafening silence. Silence so loud my ears ring with the clamour of it. Words unsaid. Thoughts dying an infant death on my tongue. Living with silence becoming preferable to living with regrets over words let loose to soon. Wreaking havoc with their youthful abandon, words flying off the overhead lights and landing shattered in people’s laps with all the attending awkward feelings as though I’d just spied two lovers having sex in the park. Silence. Preferable to awkward feelings.

But right now, today, awkward feelings be damned, I want to say something. I want to break the self-inflicted silence to tell the world that I love my children. With all my heart. Until my eyes be squeezed out.

I love you.

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