“As if this was an actual conversation. And as if I could actually say anything. I used to be quite opinionated I think.”
“And now I can’t think of anything. Just can’t bring myself to say, respond.”
“People can try to provoke me, they see something there, some trace of a responder. But it’s just a scar, my mouth is empty, my throat dry, my lungs untroubled.”
“What do people talk about anyway? I’ve grown but it seems the same.”
“There are a lot of people younger than me in my life I suppose. Or is there?”
“People jump from talking too much about too little to the other thing there.”
“Yes, eeyers. In deed.”
“How can you be a writer if you have nothing to say?”
“I really don’t know. I really don’t.”