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Sweeping up my phone, I type, Sorry I skipped my elocution lesson this morning, Professor Higgins. I wasn’t expecting to be accosted by a bossy hard-of-hearing lumberjack.
Lmao. I love a good theater reference .
Silence is a relief, a break from the constant torture of straining and trying to catch any scrap of discernible noise that I can.
As someone hard of hearing I feel this.
thought I was past grieving what I lost, but maybe grief isn’t linear. Maybe I can accept what I’ve lost and still mourn it. Maybe I always will.
The irony is not lost on me, that he’s the first man who’s ever truly made me feel heard in my life and he can’t hear a word I’m saying.
Think about it. We don’t bother with people we’re indifferent to. We provoke and prank and tease those who get under our skin and make us feel, people who incite our passion.
I didn’t need you. I don’t need anyone. “But, Sunshine,” I mutter to the empty room, “what if I need you?”
“I’m scared too, Sunshine. This is vulnerable shit.” His mouth is a breath away from mine. “I just know I’d rather be afraid with you than fearless with anyone else.”
“I want what you want,” I tell him, loud and clear, slow and sure. I don’t want him to miss a word I say. “All-in, fair and square. I want to be afraid with you rather than fearless and alone. Only when it’s us.”
