The Licker

To me talking to anyone is as much about myself as it is about them.

It's a good selfishness, a necessary one.

Put out thousands of words on a table and I'd see no meaning, but the right combination leads me to?

Well it leads me to curiosity.

I don't know their names. I ask how they are, out of routine. I don't really care. I mean that honestly. They're still a blank page. This is all out of humanity. The individual is still a ways off.

But that page scrolls and it gets filled with blue, red, and black. 

Locations and sights lead to stories and perspectives. 

It leads to making something not happen. And to make me wonder why it hasn't for me.

Talking to this person is easy. It's flowing.

But these worlds and people I've seen in my head are still resting not going through my fingers and being pushed into an LCD. They have been there for 5+ years.

Red talks about her hobbies. I glance over it.

I talk about my hobbies. She glaces over it.

This isn't what we came for. 

But stories spark curiosity and push fingertips onwards.

Water is needed, even though I'm not talking.

Short and sweet.

Then goodbyes which would roll of my fingers tongue if they had tongues.

I wonder if I left a good impression.

I wonder why I wondered that.

And the sides of my eyes ache for sleep.