Dear Man with 5 Typewriters, June 6, 2017


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I thought of you today. As the sky turned inky black and silhouettes of trees began to appear. It made me remember your gaze and the way it brings that same still moment. Gazing at the trees in the dark is like holding someone’s hand. It makes me feel peaceful. Why does my heart palpitate to your gaze? It’s random and strange, but so familiar, at this point, I barely question it anymore.

I don’t mind silence. I chatter throughout the day endlessly. Some would tell you I am never quiet, but they would be wrong. The silence is my gift to myself when my day is done. Time just to be my thoughts.

During the day I am chipper and talkative. It’s a learned behavior that all introverts cultivate. The “work face”. The mask I wear to give my inner self needed distance and privacy while still remaining available to others who constantly demand assistance. It’s not my true face all the time, it’s just one of the faces I put on to be acceptable to others who don’t really want to look any deeper.

The real me is somewhat in the middle, depending on whom I’m with. The me I am at night, is the me I like best. Silent but happy. Contemplative and curious.

The birds are slowly growing quieter. The darkness is almost complete. There are living home sounds happening. Dryer and washer buzzing with muted sound. Someone is walking up the stairs making them creak.

I’m thinking about you. How each photograph taken of you reveals different angles of your face, but still manages not to convey the true you completely. Your face is never the same twice. Your eyes though, they continue to be my favorite contemplation. So many thoughts un-shared with anyone. It makes me curious, but in a way that’s content with not knowing your secrets. I’m just happy and silent.

I wonder if there will be stars.

 

 

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