Can't Talk

(photograph by Deo Landicho)

I want to tell you that I sit on that bench every single day, making small talk with virtual strangers. I tell them little anecdotes and they are entertained. They even think I'm funny. But the conversations are empty and the words mean nothing. They are not what I want to say-- the words that move me, the little truths that burn inside and shape me.

But I can't talk.

I want to tell you that I dream at night. Disturbing dreams of people whom I've met only in my sleep, filling the darkness with chatter. And in the din, I feel their anger and I wake up afraid. I fear the night, and I fear feeling afraid when I wake. And the fear makes me lonely.

But I can't talk.

I want to tell you that I think of you often. I imagine your face and, though you're not smiling, I know you're happy. I want to tell you that I wish everything's peachy where you are, beyond the silence.

But I can't talk.

One day, perhaps soon, you'll sit beside me on that bench. And we won't talk. And it will be wonderful.