too observant

listening so carefully that I hear the rain of electricity from the headphones around my ears.

--

I could tell the interest wasn't there (or perhaps I misread it): when holding your hands up in the air felt like holding two weights that were waiting to be let free to drop; when I sat upright and pointed out the planet (star?) that was in the sky, and you inched farther away, to the point I thought you might fall off the bench, just barely sitting on it; when my adventurous spirit is blocked by mundanity or some form of emotional containment -

do people release as much as they take in? the words and spirit from the air... perhaps missed, not registered, not truly absorbed. or do some people, like black holes, swallow the brilliance – the light – from heartfelt expressions in the air, deep into the recesses of their forms, and never express free what they consumed?

--

sensitivity is the double-edged sword that lets you appreciate the fresh air of nature but feel the cutting pain of ice on skin. the suffocating feeling is not one to live with long-term. it's better to vaporize the dust before it settles, distill the foggy ghost of empty words and midnight doubt - I had no idea how someone could take away my breath the wrong way: by suffocating the expressive part, the lively part, the part that sparkles normally in sunlight, but now is flat, the fizz gone from the carbonated thirst quencher.