Talk. Talk. Talk.

So sick of it.  Sick and tired of all of it.  All I hear is talk, talk, talk and more talk.

I listen too much into everything.  Absorb too much of whatever is said to me, whatever I listen to.  When it's good it's too good that it's bad.  When it's great it's too great that I go out of control for not handling it the correct way.  Why does it seem that  there's always already a rule to every new  path.  Rules I never seem to follow.  Why don't things just happen because they do.  Why isn't the universe never flexible.  Just enough flexibility would be fine.  Why do the stars run away from me when it comes their time to take up responsibility and guide me through certain spots.

Talk.

I react to it with restlessness, fear and most times even dread.  I also react to it with high expectations.  Too high.  That's when talk becomes too much.  Because when it's too much I spend days on end thinking about everything that amounts to nothing.

Talk.

Where does it come from?  From everyone around me to the very mind that controls my being every single moment of my breathing.  Myself.

I'm sick.  Truly sick of listening and listening to every single thing.  Sick of allowing myself to be bombarded with every sound of it.

Talk.

I bet everyone around me is tired of me too.  All I do lately is talk, talk and talk.  Even in my silence.  Which a lot of people have described as being louder than making sound itself.

Talk.

It seems that the feeling everywhere is mutual.

Let's stop here.

Love, Ny.