eye contact

We didn't understand each other's words.

A tangled web, I easily got caught up in the way they clicked their tongues or smacked their lips or inhaled quickly.

I think we were overwhelmed by each other.

By the flow of conversation that neither one of us could decipher - a meaning we so desperately tried to get across, and yet failed.

We used our hands. To gesture, to point, to guide, to explain.

Laughter connected us when the words could not.

Shrugging, as if to say, "I wish I could understand - I wish we understood each other".

Or, "I know I sound ridiculous...."

But something was lost in translation.

Meaning was misinterpreted.

Later I would realize I didn't even learn their names.

But after a few days...

after a ridiculous ritual of flailing arms and smacking lips and fits of giggles...

the language barrier was broken.

Suddenly, I knew these children by heart.

We shared jokes and teased one another.

They taught us how to whistle.

And we taught them how to count.

It took too long for us to learn how to do this.

We wasted too many days, talking too much, trying too hard.

When all we had to do was bend low.

And look them in the eyes.

Because there, we could find all we needed to know.

In the depths of those dark, watery eyes was their joy.

And all their years.

Their names.

If we looked, the whole world was there.

Unencumbered by grammar.

Unsullied by vulgarity.

Unbridled by society.

Without formalities, without small talk, without awkwardness.

My soul calls out to theirs just as their hands reach out for mine.

Words were entirely unnecessary.