Speak to me. You never speak to me. What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?

It's true that people often complain that I never tell them what's on my mind. ('How can you keep things all bottled up inside?, Why don't you tell me?, But I am your family/ friend') But the thing is, I do. Tell, that is. You just have to listen hard enough to hear all the things I don't say. But mean. Or say, but don't mean.

I am good with strangers. People I know I'll never meet again. Or people in transit. I can laugh and talk and tell them anecdotes. But leave me with a person I know, and I'll play games with him/her. It's strange really, considering so much of my days is filled with the inaudible conversations I have. My silent oral dissertations with people I bond with. It's almost like a challenge. I am speaking to you. Catch my words before they fall..

I am good with masques. Oh yes, I'm bloody good at that game. I can keep you guessing my feelings till you are willing to admit defeat. It helps me be in control. The one thing I cannot have you guessing is how vulnerable I am. Or how hopelessly I am hanging on to your words.

"You don't have to tell me everything. Some things need to be felt..."

How little it takes to crumble your carefully constructed universe. How little to have your mind written on by someone else's. How little really, considering that this is just an arrogant fragment of the truth.

Do. I. Mind?
Do I.
Mind?