All I hear them talking is blablabla, gibberish, sounds I don't recognise, letters I have never pronounced, words that have no similarity to mine
All I hear them talking is another language that sets me in a box of my own no matter how close they are to me, even if their skin is on mine, even if they're talking about me and I have no clue that they are
And sometimes I just love it, being alone in this crowd, being my own island
Now I know what Bukowski means
They remain nothing but a noise in my background that I'd wish, so sincerely, to turn off



- LynnAA