Nobody knows you.
You don’t know yourself.
And I, who am half in love with you,
What am I in love with?
My own imaginings?
— D. H. Lawrence, from “The Evening Land,” Complete Poems of D. H. Lawrence (William Heinemann, 1957)
I suppose one could say that I live in words, that words matter. But the point about words is that words always want to reach the place where words are not necessary. The praise beyond applause; the place beyond words: a time before language when the word for love had not been conceived. As if you can speak without words. That’s the point too: silence speaks.