“The only thing that brings emotions to the surface anymore is music. My feelings anyway. I’m good at feeling things for others. It’s easy to be sad or happy or disappointed for others. It’s easy to relate and mimic properly. I can read faces nearly as well as I can read books. And I’ve been reading bible sized books about death and monsters since I was in the forth grade. I just don’t naturally feel unless I’m influenced by some outside source. Give me a crooning voice wrapped loosely about the sad poetry of men that drink equal parts coffee and liquor. Give me the warm, soft thoughts of someone more hopeful than I. Give me anyone else’s story packaged sweetly, thoughtfully for me. And perhaps others but I am selfish, so… Sweetly and thoughtfully for me.”

As the words left her mouth she raised her mug. The crooked smile on his face fell and slowly years slowly collected in the corner of his eyes. His tear ducts began speaking for him and her own mimicked his, just so he didn’t have to be alone. That’s how a conversation works.


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