I was thinking about the adage that friends and lovers “speak the same language.” I don’t know if that’s true. It seems more like everyone speaks their own dialect, and there’s this constant act of translation happening in relationships.
Sometimes you develop a shorthand—gestures, glances, the small vernaculars of shared time. (I rarely have to explain a particular phrase or feeling to my brother / he knows more of my emotional world than anyone else). But even then, you’re guessing.
Sometimes I think I’ve said exactly what I mean, only to be met with confusion – or worse, agreement that doesn’t feel right. I used to think this was a failure of my own communication. Now I wonder if it’s just how it goes. Language is so very personal and frankly, I don’t think anyone ever really knows what another person means when they speak.
Still, we use language as though it weren’t deeply private. As though meaning were a shared resource. This is either a form of hope or a kind of delusion. Probably both.
Even in love—especially in love—language performs a double trick. It draws us close, then reminds us how far apart we are. You say “I’m fine,” and I hear “I’m leaving.” I say “I love you,” and you ask if something’s wrong. Still, we try.
Leave a Reply