And the inability to talk gets worse, more difficult, with each day I don't speak. Like falling into the familiar dense, dark hole I was spat out of the earth from.
I ain't right.
The girl ain't right because she can't talk like most.
I don't understand why people talk so much. I don't know or care about the things they talk about. Seems like nonsense but nonsense they want to say, like common threads that bind them together and leave me, as always, left out.
It hurts worse those times I want in, to their clique, their mass of normality.
Whoever heard of someone, a grown up, who can't even make words and out loud them?
I'm alone. In deafening silence. And I can't talk. Again.
