There are a slew of explanations that I could list, but merely what it comes down to is the fact that have little desire to speak. I talk rarely, and keep my breath to cool my porridge. I keep my voice tucked away, for fear of letting it get away from me.
And this drives people insane.
I've caused an inordinate number of arguments for lack of communication. Confusion rages on in my silent wake. I can't let this continue, but I don't know how to stop. So I find another way in the meanwhile. I learn to communicate in other fashions. As a writer and a crafter, it should come as no surprise that, by and large, I think my favorite way may be with my hands.
It may sound strange to you. I understand. But you see, my hands are quite loud.
When I am in the right state of mind, they simply cannot be silenced.
Truly, I should be careful, because they have their hidden trove of secrets, waiting to be shared.
They know all the best stories, and they tell them in such delightful ways.
Really - hands are very talented.
But still, they are also very limited. For even though hands can tell of sadness and sorrow
Hands really can't weep. They can't wail.
And try as I might to mold them into a mouthpiece, to let them be a proxy for my words.
Hands simply cannot speak.
And if I continue to rely on them, I do not know if I'll be heard.
Until the next.
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