Why I Wish You’d Cut The Bullshit And Talk To Me About What Actually Matters

A blonde woman in a blue hoodie smoking a cigarette in Люберцы
Stas Svechnikov / Unsplash

Don’t tell me something that is easy to converse about. Tell me something that will drip into an uncomfortable silence, the knock-off-your-ego silence commanded by deep truth. Tell me the one thing that, in this moment, will resonate from the bottom of your very being.

Don’t tell me stories that slide down nicely, stories we have both heard a thousand times before. Say something that will roll off your tongue with the inevitability of soul-shaking emotion that cannot be contained. Say the one thing that implores to be expressed.

Don’t speak of the facts that cannot be omitted for the sake of casual conversation. Tell me a feeling that cannot be contained for the sake of your self preservation, for the sake of keeping yourself together before the weight of an untold realisation splits you in two.

Do not go to all that effort of opening your mouth to tell me something that will leave us both unchanged. Open your doors and renounce your defences to say a truth that burns inside of you like a flame that needs air to breathe. The air flowing between us could be the fuel to your fire.

Do not sit before me and recount a story of the likes of come-and-go. Lean into me and tell me of the sacred places that haunt you.

I want to imagine the almost lover you are in love with, the one who makes your heart gallop and whose existence makes every feature of your face light up.

And tell me of your present pursuits where you look for a fuller life, and tell me of everything that saw you through to where you are.

Don’t tell me that you are doing your best to improve this, and this and that. Tell me of how you drink too much, how you do not know which way to go and how you wish it were all easier.

Because maybe I feel this, too. Maybe it all fades a little away when I am here, with you, and we meet in the utter improbability and uncertainty of being human.

Do not describe to me the blue skies above. I have my own eyes to see.  Tell me of what stretches beyond this veil of illusion, what unfolds beneath the surface, into eternity.

Tell me of what makes you and me, what really makes us and lights us up from within.

Tell me the inner workings of you, of me, of everything. TC mark

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