the things you say 3

The things you say part 3
 
Oh it is very soon, I barely know you and now we must all bare our souls, some of our souls as much as we are willing, are able. I am able. Caring what others may think feels a long way away.
 
Across the borders of respectable and professional distance I sense a whiskers quiver of interest from your direction. Oh it is less than the change in the weight of the air from a spillage of salt thrown over a shoulder, is it left, is it right, lets do both to be on the safe side. It is a quiver. No more. A wrinkling of a nose, a half turn of the head. It is there. I am certain that it is there.  Like those games people play, we all know them. The smile belies the malicious intent and no one else sees it, they just see the smile. The more you explain the malevolence, the more fucked up they all think you are. And it is not you, not at all, it is him. Or her. Smiling and fucking you over, seducing all those around you, smiling, beguiling and sticking the knife in your back. Twisting and at the same time explaining that this is the only way, and explaining it so reasonably, that you almost believe him yourself, and all those around you, they fall for it. Fall. It's the same sort of thing, don't you think. The unspoken link that you sense that says 'i know you', 'you are one like me', 'i am excited by your presence and want a little more of your time'. We sense it, we do. That bated excitement, finding ways to catch a moment, speak for a moment in a rush of babbling words, trying to fit it all in, this is me, who I am, that is you, do we fit, just a bit, is it a hit. 
 
Ah. And the wondering. I walk by and behind me in a room to the left you are there and i catch a glimpse of you, how could i ever see you tucked away over there? and then, without making eye contact or acknowledging your presence i know hands down that your gaze catches me. We catch one another and do not look at each other. I know where you are. You know, but less well, but you do know, most of the time, when I am nearby, i'd say, yes, you know where i am. How to cross that boundary that line of defence. it is tricky.
 
so we are to bare all. to show ourselves one and all. the space is clean pristine, mental institution bland. no fidgeting colours or patterns to divert our attention from the truth. it is disclosure time, for the first time. I am bold and brazen. it goes without saying, that is me, i care not any longer for this or for that. it is bollocks, i know it and i am beyond here, in a holding cell of my making, looking backwards with envy at the energy and joy of naivety. that's how i see it.
 
on a screen on a block i show the room a recording of my thoughts. they are dark, but insightful. papers declaring loneliness hang in unending regimented lines and flutter occasionally as though caught in a back draught. a shrill pitched laughter escapes from me randomly. i talk without stopping, trying to get to the nub, the kernal, the stone, the seed, the core, and i feel blank eyes upon me. i try again, and again. the words erupt from me, almost stream of consciousness. i am determined to put value on me, so then, i note as i nod to myself, i care a bit. i care for you. i care what you think. i talk on and look at you. i know you want to show me, to hear me. i feel that, your interest. i like it, so i do. there is a laughter in your eyes, tiny, a glimmer. i see it.
 
someone speaks out, asks me about my life, my home. you say, we would need to be invited to her parlour to know that, wouldn't we? i smile. shall i invite you? of course not. that would be mad. insane. that is not what you meant, not at all. you are not asking for an invite i tell myself, just stating a simple straightforward fact. a simple, obvious, clear, straightforward fact. and why would you want to come anyway? you. look at you.
 
phew. it is done. my turn is over it is done i think i was open and honest and declaring. i think i passed the test, whatever test it was, whatever it may have been. i am here, still here. i am in.
 
i watch as another bares their soul, it is hard for her as she cares, so much, so deeply. her voice wavers, i can perhaps see the glint of a tear, a diamond caught in the intense bright light, sliding and slicing as it rolls, full of weight downwards. she has cut the marks from her soul into shining silver, harsh marks and abrasions into silver. she talks of food and change, and she cares. i hear you say, oh so throw away, that you are free from the chains that had you bound and catching life back open armed. you said it to no one, no one heard, except me. you said it, i know it, just for me.
 
later, all done. the screens need returning to the locked storage space along the corridor. look at you, long, lean, strong. you bend to move the item. can i help? i ask. no, no, i'm fine, you say. you have done this so very many other times before now, for sure. and you cannot manage see, you struggle terribly. can i help? i ask once again, wanting the intimacy of sharing a task, any task at all with you. i think you want that to. yes please you say as you struggle. it is light, it is easy, we laugh and struggle together, really struggle because it does not need two. not at all. then bang, the base falls away. naughty children you and i, caught scrumping in our own orchard, lines crossed and discarded, forgotten, for a second or two we are lost in old behaviours, freedom of youth, gaiety. ah. see. just for a moment. you and me.