I didn’t know what you meant when you talked to me. I didn’t get what you cared about ~ did you care about what you talked about? Or were you just saying words to stop the pause between us from seeming so big, so long, so awkwardly outdrawn?

I didn’t know what you meant when you talked to me. Did you have a point you were trying to make? Or was it just part of the validation of your hidden pieces that you were putting together that I could never be privy to. That rigged up block of empty understanding that you stood upon. The one I didn’t know about or where or why you came from the direction you did when you spoke to me.

I looked at you and it hurt. The absurdity of trying to understand when such a small tainted and distorted morsel you let out, about something rather obscure that had some vague connection to something that mattered within you. Possibly that was so. Though not necessarily probable. I couldn’t make sense of the bits you projected at me in your speech, what was it you were trying to say anyways?

But I smiled at you and nodded because that is what you wanted. In the big picture of it all.