his thoughts were always
too fresh, too close to his lips, the tip of his tongue cradled every word for what seemed like years
to him, that is before it would spill into the universe. everyone always stood a little further from his wide eyes than they might have, had he not seemed
ready to burst at the slightest hint of interest in his words, feigned or otherwise.
i loved him.. but his words, they never held any sort of truth. he never thought long enough about any one thing to figure out whether or not
he was creating most everything that fell from his head. i consoled myself, times when i was sure of this, as it would seem that any number of things that i pass off as truth could be little more than my own perceptions. truth is such an uncertain thing, anyway.
we'd laugh, occasionally, the two of us, in the middle of one of his
seemingly endless rambles. you could never trust someone who's head was so full, all the time, of fresh bursting content.. you could never trust a minty brained man.