I read an entire book just now and wrote a review and now here I am, feeling restless and full of too many words that aren’t good for anything.

 

It’s why I’m here. Because I think I’d like to talk, but I would not. I think I’d like to talk, but who would I talk to, and about what? I remember talking to people before. And I think of things I’d like to say, but then I ask myself what the point would be. What good would it do? I wouldn’t even end up saying whatever words I’d planned anyway. They have a way of coming out not at all like I’d intended.

 

 

And then it doesn’t help to have him screaming at me words that start out as questions and get lost before the first syllable makes it over the air in my brains and the wasn’t-a-question-anyway becomes a roar that is trying to say too much at once to say anything at all.

 

In between roars, he throws things at the walls of our skull, and they explode into piles of so much glass.

 

 

 

I think I broke something.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I get to thinking I understand, and then I don’t. And then I get confused because things go back to where they were when I thought I was good, and I feel mighty suspicious because I know I broke something, but it’s not there. I smell around for it, but it’s gone.

 

But it can’t be.

 

 

 

 

And then words come at me and even when he is roaring and holding his shaggy head in his hands, they still come at me, quietly, and tell me things that I try not to know, and he tries to deny, but I know they are true because I know him and I know he’ll make them so.

 

 

 

 

I need to go away. I need to go away by myself and go until I don’t feel agitated anymore and he is quiet again and we can stop feeling uneasy about how we can’t find what it is I know we broke.

 

Then I can answer questions, even if I still can’t ask them. And he pretends that he doesn’t do what I ask him to, but I know better. I know him as well as the quiet words do. He’ll do what they said he would, and he’ll say what I’ve already told him he will say. It’s just a matter of going away and waiting.

 

I think I may have to go away for reals.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…hello, October.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

rts

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