You were going on and on about, what? I don't know. A full waste bin. The picture was in my mind. A pile of tiny tubes with filters. Clear little plastic bits. So much waste you said and I looked at your eyes then. I had a flick at my heart. I longed to know what exactly you meant by it. How it actually made you feel. Do you have an interest in conservation? I could talk about that for awhile. I would love to hear about it. But, I felt suddenly awkward. This is small talk. I thought. I loathe small talk. You had said more. I realized you were repeating yourself. Why were you standing so near? I don't know if I would have cared if it was anyone else. I probably would have had a bigger smile. I would have found something weird to say. Something that may have been just normal for me to say. I mumbled something very similar back to you as I was staring into the space between another person and the trash can. Looking at the empty clear waste bins around the area in front of me. I realized I was repeating myself too. There was a pause then. It seemed like we both had things on the tip of our tongues. But, we just said it again. The same thing. I blinked away the pause. I moved my body. I made a joke. I probably stared at your feet from under the hood for too long. I wanted to kick you. Like a child would. Like a child looking for attention. Your attention. I wanted to just, talk about nothing again. I sighed it away, for the millionth time. I keep sighing all day. I think I should quit drinking coffee. I think I should stop adding things into my brain. Why do I torture myself like this? No one else lives in my stories and it makes it hard to explain where I am and how I feel when you don't live in my world. I live inside my world, inside this world where everyone else is. I get your world. I live in it too. I just live in a sub-genre so obscure, even I don't understand why I'm there half the time.
I was not sure how to feel. I think I just feel... like I'm at the bottom of your list. I don't like the feeling. I said it was where you would be, I get it. I really do. But, I was hoping you would be more clear about it by now. I was hoping that we would have something more solid by now. It feels right. It feels like there's something to build. I always hate this time. The in between. The point where I try not to hold back, but I find myself holding back. Because, I know it'll hurt. And I don't like being hurt. But. I still do. So. I weigh if it would be worse to allow myself to feel everything as it comes and be hurt as it comes, or to just never let anyone know how it feels. How I feel. And just let it be that I am nothing and no one and nowhere. That I have nothing to say. Nothing to feel. That I have no opinions on whether it was good or bad. That I have no specific instructions that I very subtly tried to tell you with and without words that I needed and was dutifully ignored. That I felt like a vessel from which you can slide in and out and feel like it was just great for you and I am left feeling just. Sad. Disappointed. Sad. That sometimes you feel like you trying to make more noise and encouragement feels... feigned... and takes me out of the moment. That I was trying to move your hand and tell you where I wanted it and it felt like I was forcing your hand, rather than you bending to do something that you previously thought worked "every time" on "everyone." The way you move that part of you needs to move to another part of me. The ideas you have on what I want are skewed. You aren't doing anything that's bad. Or that it isn't great, even. It's just not the thing that will make me burst out in song. Not the things that will make me feel like you're listening.
I know you felt it. The shift. The... silence. I swallowed hard at it. The feeling that I know. I know. I know. That feeling that I've already started to close off. Rather than open up. That I started to open up and then... I didn't hear from you for a day. That I will send all my thoughts and feelings and sometimes you might touch on one or two of them. But, usually they are just dust piling up. Something to be wiped away and never thought of again. Then randomly you bring something obscure up. I know you're listening. I hear it. I heard you refer to it. But. *sigh* It doesn't feel acknowledged at the moment I say it. So I have already let it go. It's already gone for me. I need it to be nodded to at the moment I say it. Not later. Later I want to touch you and listen to you tell me about things. I don't need references to obscure things I felt hours and days ago. Those things are... just.... I don't know. Not relevant unless I am feeling them then. And I'm usually not. I turned over in the night and I heard the noise you made. It was like a relief, happiness, sadness, and distance. All at the same time. I wasn't sure if it was meant to be that weighted. I turned back into you and I heard a different noise. You were happy I was back. Maybe you were just asleep. Maybe I just added more weight to it. Maybe all this, is just an interpretation of how I see and feel a million colors and thoughts and feelings where everyone just has a few. Or that I'm not a mind reader or interpreter of what any of it means.
I spent a long time wondering about how. Going over the minute details. I couldn't see the big picture. I just always had to figure out all the small stuff. I had to focus on the shit that MATTERED. But... Now? I just... I see it for everything. All the colors and feelings and the space in between. I would rather just live in my fantasy where things just work out. Where my brain doesn't tell me that I should focus on the whims of my mind. That I should just live in everyone's world and forget that other people don't live in mine. That I just should be elusive. Just be alone. Just survey the world by myself, as I always have. I may get hurt. But, it's my hurt. It's for me. No one else gets to take it or use it against me. They can think that I feel nothing. That I'm no-one. Sure, sure. I'll make the small talk. I'll smile and let the world continue to be what it is and pretend that the colors are more vibrant for me. That things are just better in the other world. Because no one is there. They don't know. No one wants to visit me here, and that's okay. I guess. I wouldn't be single if someone did want to be invited. Because I always move mountains for anyone who would be willing to see my world. Stupidly. Frustratingly. Move mountains.
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