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An Honest Conversation
Kira Howe
20 Nov 2003
Some days all I can think about is the need for an honest conversation. Most days it can't be had. Honest people are hard to come by, and often they're your parents, which just won't do.
So I sit and stare and think, and I figure that any minute now someone's going to appear out of the far wall, walk over, sit down and start talking to me. He must, because otherwise something bad will happen. I'll start throwing all the dishes down to shatter on the kitchen floor, or I'll climb into my car and drive into a tree. Not to hurt myself, just to vent frustration.
It's very frustrating. It's worse than trying to remember the face of the friend you met in last night's dream, worse than trying to remember the future. I watch the wall and curse the someone who isn't walking out of it, because I can feel my secrets floating up and up, to hover behind my teeth and under my tongue. I would reveal them to the first fool to say how-do. My heartbeat is the ticking of a bomb.
And all I need is someone to nod and say, "That's rough."
Bomb diffused.
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