Means of Communication

To almost everyone I ever met,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for being so quiet,
and not giving you much back
in terms of conversation.
I wish you would know
it’s not that I don’t find you interesting;
it’s just that the words that are coming out of your mouth
almost always
is the least interesting thing about you.
I get distracted. I’m of a curious nature.
I want to know
so much more
about you
than what you thought about something you watched on TV
or your opinions on the latest political developments,
and it’s all right there
in your face, and your posture,
and the way you touch
the way you wear your hair.
It’s not that I’m not listening.
I’m listening to so much more
than you even know
you’re putting out there.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for spying on your soul.
I’m sorry for eavesdropping on your inner conversation.
I’m sorry for almost never knowing how to communicate back.
I wish I knew how to respond
to the sad but beautiful longing
in the corner of your eyes
when you think we’re talking about
The Walking Dead.

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