She wants to know why I can’t talk to her. How do I explain to her that my mouth is full of cotton, she asks me questions and I spit out fibers in place of words. She is filled with brilliance. It drips from her lips every time they part. How do I explain to her that I ache for genius to flow from my being. I want nothing more than for her to look at me and see a reflection of herself shining through. She is my highest reverence. I am of little or no consequence to her, and that fact makes my heart ache.
She tells me that she doesn’t understand my behavior. Doesn’t understand why I say the things I say. How do I articulate my insecurities? How do I map out the ways in which I overcompensate for the areas I come up lacking? That is where my behavior stems from. That is why I do the things I do, but that is not answer enough, doesn’t spell out the ways I let her down, let myself down.