I look at you, me talking too much while you stare off into space, us sitting on the porch in the back yard after you've come home from work. There you are, sunglasses on so I can't tell if you're looking at me, or if your head is just tilted to the sounds coming out of my mouth. And I keep talking, talking to the silence that surrounds us, while trying to make you laugh and failing miserably. I can see that you're so tired from the daily boredom of your job, and I can do nothing but talk about my day, you all the while probably wanting me to shut up, so you can relax for five minutes after the storm of the work week, and the daily commute. But I can do nothing but talk, trying to encapsulate to you my experiences; trying to share with you everything that I have done for the day, so that maybe, for a moment, instead of being two people in a relationship we can be one. One person who have shared the same experiences, and are so close together that the silence is no longer deafening.
But all you can do is look into space. And i cannot articulate to you why I try to fill the silence, creating a schism separating me from you when we should be binded comfortably together. Yet for you, you do not seem to mind the silence. Maybe it's at those moments that you feel us truly as one, or maybe those are moments of peace, where you do not have to engage with me and the world, instead letting it take you, like a pliable lover, as it will. Looking at you, while you possibly listen to me, I question what a person like you can find so beautiful and charming in a person like me. And in these moments, I doubt my self.
Maybe one day I will be comfortable with the silence that sometimes surrounds us... but until then, I'm sorry for stealing those moments from you.
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