As a writer, I often question myself and one of the questions that I always come back to it, “What is my favorite word?” I don’t know why I ask this because it’s always a different answer every single time. One day it could be opulent and I’ll see a gorgeous 1920’s style mansion. But the next day it could be derelict and that same mansion has fallen into ruins, dark and abandoned.
Finding a word that really sings to me—and who I am—is hard because I find beauty in almost every one. Even moist, if only in its ability to freak people out.
So instead I wonder, “What’s my least favorite word?” And a single word pops into my mind.
Now I’m not saying some kind of Severus Snape shit. Fiction or anything not related to real life or people, is fine. Like I’ll always love books and sushi will always be my favorite food.
I hate always because it’s a promise waiting to be broken.
It is a careless word, thrown out by people who don’t know what it means or how to use it.
“We’ll always be friends” turns into old stories of people I haven’t talked to in years. Strangers.
“I’ll always love you” fades into broken hearts and forgotten feelings.
Always leads false hope, breeds half-hearted optimism.
It is a disaster waiting on the horizon. A rainbow masking a bigger storm.
I loathe always.
Each one you said and sent was a knife aimed at my back. I couldn’t even feel the pain until your always, like novocaine, wore off.
Always is bittersweet. It is the memories of what used to be and a reminder of what could have been.
Always is a weapon, wielded by the unknowing.