Lost in Translation

And at last, it was the human language that finally pushed her through the edge. How restricting it is — the result of years of evolution, but something about it can never be mastered. How tragic is it that language is all we got but it manages to be a fragile, vague thing? It's impossible to convey your thoughts and feelings wholly without something big missing in the chunks of speech and writing. There are thoughts too deep, too personal, too intense to be put into words, and reducing them to surface value can never feel justified. It's scary how those thoughts and feelings that used to be yours only —  pure, defining, close to your core — will be gone, reduced to the point where they become no more than a sentence once they translated into language. And to other people, they are not your exact replica of pure thoughts and feelings anymore. They are out of your control, not the slightest bit yours. They become the product of others' interpretation and thought process, all twisted and bent to fit what each knows and sees about the world.
And so it became hard for her to say anything that mattered, because it would not be hers anymore. It would come down to a single judgement and label at the end, with no one really feels and thinks these thoughts in their purest form, the way she did. And maybe it is the quintessence of all lives, to never really be understood, but it is not okay for her— not for the time being at least. So she kept it all inside, bruising, but never bleed.