All Unsaid

ALL UNSAID, BUT PAY ATTENTION: And now that I am back, there may be times when I cannot speak to you. If you notice that you have been talking to me for more that 5 minutes, and I have not said anything, and I appear to be unable to speak -- it is best to just leave me alone, or lead me to a semi-dark room, lay me on a bed, to come out of it. I got out of it, and I know I will be bringing it with me -- it is inevitable that I will be bringing with me. Take someone from one situation, and 48 hours later, place them in a totally different situation, old habits and reactions persist. You've been filled up, you bring it. I won't tell you what I am seeing, overplayed onto this sunny reality, because I know it is not real, just a series of semi-hallucination of the recent past. I won't tell you the imaginary sounds I hear, impossible sounds, surrounded by carpet and tile and sheetrock walls -- the birds of the forest, the crackle of a twig, (I smell smoke) the bolt on a rifle being racked open and closed out of boredom. Rifle is racked open and closed out of boredom. Rifle, racked open and closed, again. Oh, now a magazine being rocked into place, just so, not to get stuck. You can hear it when it is done right. Slide, rock. Click-clack. You look up. The boy racks the bolt back again, a round cycling into the chamber, or possibly not. It depended on if the magazine was full, or empty. He's 12. He points the muzzle of the assault rifle at you, at your left eye, and before you can be afraid, the rifle goes "click". By this accident, this suddenness, you are unshakably fearless, chained to the ground, by your neck, in the mud, full of worms and malaria. You kind of die, then -- in dying you feel you are fearless. I'll always love you. Even when I don't seem to love you anymore.