A Fixed point

Written sometime in 2010 – edited in 2020

I don’t know how to look you in the eye. I can’t read by iris. I prefer to look on the lips, where words come from. The place that shapes the sound so that we can understand the message, the purpose, the feeling.

They say that who does not look in the eyes lies. I don’t lie more or less often than anyone else, I just direct my attention to where I’m interested. “The eyes are the window of the soul”, according to a popular saying. But, if you think about it, the soul is the highest level of our intimacy, which makes me think, indignantly, why would someone spy on mine? I don’t like having access to anything other than what I was allowed, so I look at the lips, not the eyes.

Photo by Rodolfo Clix on Pexels.com

The lips interest me more because they are dynamic, they move all the time. The lips give rise to the external and the brightest verbalized. You feel more through your lips. When they are united with others, the physical reverberates intensely. But, I confess, nothing can ever replace that exchange of glances so penetrating that pierces ourselves, in an almost deadly way. And … on second thought, as I wrote, I realized that the lips are also the gate of the intimate. The soul runs in them too. They say what the eyes don’t say. Be true, be a lie.

Words are lethal weapons. They pass on the information they feel is convenient for the moment (or not). And the information is worse than a biological war: it can break someone apart. And with a deeper suffering than physical pain.

Photo by Samantha Garrote on Pexels.com

I do not know what to do.

I have no clue if I should keep on looking at the lips, or if I learn, once and for all, to look in the eyes. The answer to that is as much vague as this essay, raised up from my heart, and was verbalized, in an attempt of getting myself explained.

Maybe I really should learn other points of view and broaden my horizons.

Published by flaviastamato

Publicist and writer, a citizen of the world trying to free herself from writing cliches (but it's so tempting....)

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