Quiet.

I like to listen. To everything. I get sidetracked with my current conversation because I hear the voices in the cafe, in the bar. Clearly. I hear the argument across the street and I wonder why the man is made at the women. I wonder if this is how they are, always. If this is how they love. It sounds loud but maybe it is nothing to them.

Then I miss my turn.

I'm not the best speaker, because I'm reluctant to open my mouth before I've had the chance to mull your words over in my mind, decide what to say, wanting to say what I really mean. I am listening, and I do understand, and you'll understand I understand once you see the words on a page.

But I might end up choking on a piece of ice when I take a sip of water once I muster courage to respond to your question.

I hear you. I am thinking about everything around me, what I see, what you say, the colors and the shifting shadows of the trees dancing on my file cabinet, the smells in the air and the bitter, salty, sweet on my tongue.

The world is endlessly, exquisitely fascinating. I am not shy. I am not ignorant. My humor can be rough, but I am sincere. You can doubt me, if you want. But I don't doubt me.