Minions! My ever patient and accepting open arms.... I come to you burned out. Talking is the single most exhausting activity in the world. Some days, I wonder if words are as magical as I always see them to be; they have a critical turning point, where they turn from colourful meaningful connecting threads into mindless repetitive noises, they remind me very much of the bubbles that I drew coming out of fish underwater when I was little, with the flat glass like eyes that have no more depth than a mirror. There is emotional danger in not remembering conversations from days on end, something feels very isolating in words that rise and fall in just my mouth, words that didn't travel the corners of my existence to get out... While some days words offer hanging bridges to the nooks of our souls, mostly, to transient people they just build huge barricades between our skin and whatever lies inside it... Those guarding words exhaust me to no end, they are like sand in my furnaces... listening to something while not seeing the resonance of it in the people's eyes jolts my fear so many times a day, too many times to the point of numbness. Minions, offer me meaningful silence over the depth-less words a hundred times over before I go automated.... help me through somehow.
