I feel like I should write something. I think it's the weather. I should be sitting on the window seat, my head leaning against the rain spattered window, looking out into the gray, making broad statements about the state of things, or religion, or at least letting my eyes tear up listening to a man play an acoustic guitar, singing about the women he left or let leave.
That's not what's going on here.
The truth, if you'd like it to hear it, which no one ever really does, is that I have nothing to say.
I did.
I do, maybe, but no one's listening and I'm not one to let my voice compete with loud music in a bar, or that guy you fucked, didn't fuck, want to fuck, kissed on your birthday, lied to, fell in love with, thought you fell in love with, shit...do we ever listen to ourselves?
Most of all, I feel like the louder your voice is the less I care about what you have to say. So we have to break up, myself and language.
Don't call. I won't answer.
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