Every Word You Cannot Say*

I don’t know why you’re reading this book.

All I know is why I wrote it.

I wrote it because a few years ago a childhood friend of mine took his own life.

And I miss him. And I wish he was around so I could say the things I can’t say now.

I wrote this because there are people I once thought would be in my life forever, who would never change. And now they aren’t in my life anymore, and everything has changed.

And I miss them.

And there are things I wish I could say to them too.

I wrote this because I’ve seen you, a stranger, standing alone in a crowded room, and even though we don’t know each other, there are things I want to say to you, and things I wish you could learn to say to yourself.

I wrote this because the world doesn’t allow us to simply walk up to each other and say, “I can see there is some secret part of you that hurts when no one’s looking, and I think if we talk about it, it might not hurt as much. I think the thing hurting you, is hurting me too.” I wrote this because our most sacred truths, our most honest confessions about who we are and how we really feel about each other, are reserved for eulogies, and that’s not right. I wrote this because sometimes, I find myself in such dark places I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way out.

So some of the things I’ve written down are the things I wish I could say to myself when I find myself there.

This is a book you can take into dark places.

Maybe it won’t always show you the way home, but it will always let you know that you’re not alone and sometimes, that’s enough.

In the end, I wrote this because without knowing you at all, I want you to know that you are loved and stronger than you think.

So if you’re still reading, then listen.

With every word, I will do my best to be worth listening to.



Barnes and Noble
Andrews McMeel