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I mean, I've got a thousand suspicions, but I want to hear him say it.  Come on, tell me.  TELL ME.  What's it like to never talk?  What's it like to walk the earth and keep everything to yourself?!   Is it just a matter of finding the right person to spill to?  You gotta be cool enough to talk to?

"Look just understand that that's the way I am.  Stop trying to make me into something I'm not," he says. "But it's something you already DO," yes he knows how to talk.  He's talking right now, "I would just appreciate it if you did MORE of it."  Jeez, it's not like I'm asking him to start wearing a skirt or something.

"Why can't you just deal with it?" 

"Because I feel stupid if I'm the one doing all the talking," though frankly I must interject that right now is perhaps the only time we're matching each other in word counts.  "Why do you feel stupid doing all the talking?"  "Because YOU'RE NOT TALKING!"  "You shouldn't feel stupid.  I don't think you're stupid.  I'd feel stupid if I suddenly started talking." 


"Even if I want you to and would welcome any words?"  "What the fuck do you want me to talk about?  My day?  What I ate for lunch?  What I want out of life?"  "Yeah, let's start there.  What do you want out of life?"  "I don't know.  There.  Three words for you.  I don't know.  Happy?"

Stony silence. I wish I could walk home.  I wouldn't mind at this point.  I sit and hem and haw and squirm and try to not say anything.  You want silence, you got it pal.  I try to tell myself that just as it's killing me, it's hurting him worse.  Because he's gotta be wondering what I'm thinking.  He's gotta be twisting in the wind.  He's just gotta be.  And I'm not gonna say anything else.  Nope nope nope.  Not me.  If I say anything, I'm gonna make it so much more worse.  So don't say anything.  Just don't.

But.  Oh but.  There's a part of me, that stupid little part of me that just will not let it lie.  There's a part of me, deep deep deep down, that insists on destroying myself.