So, how many times did Kaledoscope find himsef falling short of words to express what is going on inside his head? Well, it's countless. Kaleidoscope often have felt that there are lot to say, lot to make the other understand. He often has made plans: a checklist of words, sentences and points that he wishes to tell, to share, to make understandable by the other. However, when the moment comes he often fails miserably.
How does he fail?
1. He tries to put his thought into words and then after some time he finds so many fill in the blanks in his script! May be he expresses through his body language but such language often remains undeciphered or may be he is equally poor with his body languages.
2. With repeated failure he often stops talking. He often gives up saying things that he used to say regularly. Then all that are left in a conversation is idle chatter!
When the question of love comes Kaleidoscope can only utter the words to express the way he is dragged towards the image of love and not the love per se. In his intimate moments with person, places and the like he finds himself in an absolute shortage of words. He describes the situation as silence! Yes an word to escape from himself! Yes it is silence outside and a storm of ignited passion inside. He often asks himself 'what you talk of when you talk of love?' he has also documented in his earlier post that its the 'Silence.'
Well, silence of what kind?
Silence because of the shortage of words?
Silence because the other as Kaleidoscope perceives can read a lot from a silence?
Silence because of the pain he has to take up?
Silence for prolonged broken promises?
Silence because of memories and inheritance of loneliness?
Or perhaps a combination of so many things of compatibility and incompatibility with kaleidoscopic self , the world and the imagined world.
Kaleidoscope just like others still searches for the answers to one of his primordial questions now 'what we talk of when we talk of love?' In addition to another and more persistent one 'did we know what love is? Do we have the capacity to even imagine, the feel the passion the tenderness of a state of being we so reluctantly label as love?'