Things said. Things left unsaid. Things said through the hands, the eyes, the fists, the back. You speak much more than what you say.
I hear you. What do I hear? What do I know? Nothing. Nothing.
I see you. I see you saying things. Telling things. Things that were done to you. Things that I don’t know about. Things only you can tell.
Tell me. Can you tell me? Can I be told?
How long was it before you told? Told anyone? Told what? Which part? Can you tell all the parts? You tell some parts. Could you tell all the parts?
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it as a question, not as a request.
You tell me what you want. The parts you want. Not me, not really me. You tell someone. A camera.
Later, I watch. I listen. I listen. I see. What do I see? What do I know? Nothing, nothing.
I know nothing. Nothing. I will never know anything, anything and, in a sense, thank God for that. And yet, I feel so small, so stupid for not knowing. For not knowing anything. For knowing nothing, I’m nothing. You are so very big to me. Do you understand how big you are?
How big? What is big?
Your eyes, your fist, your words, your back. Yet they tell me, this is nothing. Nothing.
This big. It’s nothing. This big is but a tiny part. This big is but a tiny little piece of what you know about humanity. The terribleness of humans. This part you know.
This part I don’t. I don’t. Know it. I listen only. And watch. And listen. And see. And think. What I don’t know. What I don’t know. Do I want to know?
Yes. But.
Your words, your eyes, your fists.
Your back.
