cluttered conversations

we’re in a crowd; i scream incoherently to grab your attention over the cacophony of foreign voices. except i’m soft, it’s quiet, and the only words i scream are in capital letters and ostentatious words, in the hopes that you’ll hear them. i can see you strain your ears, and you tilt them towards me. but your eyes drift and my words float aimlessly, like dust waiting for the wind to settle.

there will always be a crowd. and someday my throat will grow old and raspy, your ears coarse with the friction of trying, and we’ll let the voices cut through.

but sometimes,
sometimes,
some time,

we leave for the exit, and we step out into the silent night. there i can hear your voice again, like silk along my skin – i know you can hear me too. it’s so lovely to see you smile again.

they’re calling us back in, those silent strangers, and you turn your head for a second. you look back, and we continue our chatter. they call out your name, and eventually mine; we both remain silent, hoping for their words to fall through. yet they catch and tug at our heartstrings – no they don’t fall. and i know someday, somehow, we’ll have to join back the crowd.

but for now, i’ll reply your small talk with smiles and fluttered eyes, feeling your voice as it drifts into the night sky. the crowd is as noisy as ever, but

there isn’t a sound in the world that can make me forget your voice, no matter how hard they try.

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