Guilty

He came back when the cockerela appeared.

Everyday I would hear that monologue talking, no questions, any other matter but just him and I’d try to hear between the lines of my thoughts and to hide my growing exasperation into a beatific control of my primary impulses and the ruins of an old terrific empathy I still owned.

Some days, well not days to be honest just a few hours, I would dig deep down into a new him eternal fugue would he ever sort out our vague talking into a non risky business not to fall in us or further than our us being.

And then I started appreciating it so very much, learning at last from relief more than that old useless pain. Even more from unspoken words than those pretended to be meant.

Guilty of my limits, I learned to sail away from me.