Your Talk Is Slowly Killing Me

Artwork by Weston Ashley
Artwork by Weston Ashley

You're talking to me but I'm not listening to what you're saying. It's the same thing time and time again when I run into you. You meander on and on about this or that. I cock my head to the side as if I'm thinking about what you have to say. I'm consciously aware that I'm not paying attention to you anymore but instead thinking about a lot of things. A few might be, "When will you shut up?,"No, they aren't interested in you and never will for X, Y, and Z," or "You have a lot of nose hairs that need to be trimmed." They look at you for some kind of acknowdledgment or approval, and you look back but behind your eyes, they are dead. You straighten yourself up feign interest in what they have to say and simply nod. There is nothing of interest here. Although, a storm brewing though.

The storm in question is a bubble first. Hot air thickening, expanding slightly, pulsating through your veins from your heart to your cerebral cortex in the brain, pushing outward into your frontal lobe. There is a slight twitch in the face, a pang of anxiety and heat emanating from your forehead. The person talking see's this and takes it as a sign that you're quite interested in their problems that they keep blathering on about.

They continue but you're beginning to shift in your hips, knocking back and forth gathering space to make a mad dash when the timing is right. Their speech doesn't mean anything to you. Their words are sounds that echo through your eardrums convoluting into white noise. All you can think about is running away. But your feet stand firmly planted on the spot. Inside, you begin to scream in your head about how much you don't care what they have to say.

They're still talking. It's as if they will never stop. An anger begins to creep its way throughout your body. Seriously, when is the person going to stop talking? It's not anything you haven't already heard before, merely a recap of a recap that is somehow longer than the initial recap. There is no rhyme or reason for you to still be standing there. You begin to think about a way in which to escape; praying that some homeless person will come bother us, a European tourist needing directions ("Broadway is four blocks east and runs all the day down through SoHo, you're welcome. No, I don't know where the Apple Store is."), or a freak rainstorm that comes out of nowhere. Just an excuse so that when they have to pause, you can interject really quickly that you have to leave and that it was nice talking to them.

You walk away while cringing. Some people can't just take the hint and shut up. Oh dear, there's that guy that I saw one time at that house party two weeks ago who is also going to stop me and talk to me for twenty or thirty minutes. Must escape, must cross street evading cars so they won't hit you. You're not going to be cornered again. Relieved that you survived that close call, and you go down underground to wait for the subway with your earbuds in your ear (Listening to Chopped and Screwed Britney Spears naturally), when the train arrives and you sit finding solace that you actually found a place to sit, you turn to discover that that an obscure Facebook friend which you don't know their name is sitting next to you and dives right into conversation. You take off your headphones, and place your book into your bag giving up all hope that this person will not stop talking until they reach your stop.

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