thecockycockless

A thought comes to me. I would be lying if I said it came instantly, in that moment, when I noticed a change in your expression. No, it came much later, upon replaying our meeting for myself, dwelling in the memory and the analysis of our interaction. And your reaction. And because it is a thought born from a memory I doubt it even more than I would have done had I drawn the conclusions in real time. But still, it is a thought I can't help indulging. I feed it to grow, turn it over in my hand, where I cradle it. I will show it to some.

 

The thought goes like this: Have you been harbouring words I never meant for you to catch?

 

I say so much, so often - almost always - and I am spoilt with people that have come close enough to hear the meaningful silence behind sentences. Friends that have learnt to interpret my nuances, my hints and allegations, my pauses inbetween words. So naturally I think everyone gets it. Understands when I say something that might very well be true in the moment it's uttered, but that will fade, or change, or turn into its opposite after time has passed.

 

But maybe not. You have been known to quote me on things I wish you hadn't. Phrases I recognize as my own, but that are no more worthy of quoting than random words taken from a full page of statements - out of context they make no sense; they are useless, misguiding, without a time and a place and a feeling. All of which always changes. But the words stay the same, and you have carried them with you, shaped behaviours from them, even though they are long since too warped to carry meaning.

 

You are not the only one having done this. Yet I have not, until now, picked up on it. But it's clear what I should do to test this theory.

 

Quieten.