The man of few words but many thoughts

The man of few words but many thoughts was just that. A man of few words but many thoughts.

He hadn’t planned on being this way. This is just the way he had turned out.

When he sat down and thought about it, sure, he could see why he had become this person. It made sense, considering all the things that he had been through. But that doesn’t mean he was at peace with it.

It doesn’t mean he woke up every day and felt happy or satisfied being this person.

He just was who he was. For better or worse.

Probably worse because most people who got anywhere were people of few thoughts but many words. These were the people who got elected and made grand speeches. Commanded boardrooms and led swathes of fellow humans.

That these talkers defaulted on most of the things they said hardly mattered. Because even if they were held accountable, the same kind of people were promptly put in their place. And the men and women of few words but many thoughts remained in the peripheries.

When things became bad, their job was to watch on in horror just like everyone else.

That is what the man of few words but many thoughts had to do too.

It burned him up from the inside. But maybe the doing wasn’t his responsibility anyway.

Except, that was a lie. The truth was that he felt the responsibility in his chest and he felt the responsibility in his veins.

The man of few words but many thoughts couldn’t deny that he felt things and imagined things and wanted to do things. He would think long and hard about all things, all possible situations and scenarios, all processes (both right and wrong) and about an end to a means and a means to an end.

He would think long and hard about equality and justice and peace. Long and hard about how it felt to be downtrodden and neglected or helpless and ignored.

But these thoughts, that’s all they ever remained. Just thoughts. Because when they tried to fit into neatly packaged words that people wanted to hear, they couldn’t.

So his words didn’t matter. His thoughts didn’t matter.

Maybe he didn’t matter.

The man of few words but many thoughts simply remained a man of few words but many thoughts and no action.

And that seemed to be his destiny.

And possibly, ours too.

Or a lack thereof.