What is on my mind . . .

I should write is what is on my mind. About what is just a subtext. Still, there is an awkward moment when you realize that sometimes subtexts are so damn important. It is right now.

Does vacuum make a good subject? Or numbness? No no, too depressing. Sunshine? Sunshine makes sense, the green grass and sunshine. . . fuck romanticism! It doesn’t work for me.

There is that boy hiding in the bushes is waiting to get to me ( No no no, don’t read the subtext in this. Not right now. These are ramblings.) He has brown eyes, he is not more than seven years old, has brown hair and has a stutter. He looks at me all the time, when I am not looking at him of course! But still he looks at me. I know, he is a kid, and I should probably ask him to come to me and be friends with him. But, I can’t.

I stutter. Only then, only there. I cannot be warm to him. No, I am not being rude to him. I am just keeping him at a distance. Because when he looks, it feels like he can feel my inside. Because he stutters, I know he won’t be bold to tell the truth. That is, if there is a truth to tell about me.

Who and what are questions that everybody would ask. I don’t want to scare you as much as I hate to scare myself. If I will ever want to ask something it would be this . . . Does this gaze mean anything to you boy? If it doesn’t, don’t run away, just stay there, keep looking . . . . One day you might find something that I haven’t.

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