“I hate when people ask what I am thinking. I never really know how to answer that question because, quite frankly, I don’t even know. Over the years my mind has seemed to transform into this hive, thoughts flying around in a gray cloud, each one having their own separate buzz. And all of these sounds fuse together into one confusing and paralyzing hum to where I can’t identify a single thought. So I don’t know how to answer the question as to what I am thinking because there are so many thoughts crawling on top of each other to get out. And so I choose to just be silent. Being silent is just so much easier.”
I looked up at the man. He appeared to be only a few years older than me, maybe in his mid-twenties. His hair, dishwater blonde, was swept to the side, the kind of style fraternity boys at my previous school used to always wear when they had to dress up for chapter. His eyes were so vividly blue. Every time that he looked at me I would stay still, purely out of fear that he found me transparent.
But he had an amused grin spreading across his face, dimples carving into his cheeks. It was a common smile of his: one not of understanding, but of assumption. “And what are you thinking of right now?” Dr. Smith asked.
I rolled my eyes, accidentally releasing two unknown tears that rimmed my lash line. I met his eyes, gritting my teeth. “You’re not listening.”