Explanations

I used to feel the urge to make them.

In the elevator.

When I made eye contact.

When I found a way out of my skin into someone's space, or what I thought was their space.

And internally.  To myself, that is.  Because.  Just because.  I'd automatically stutter into them.  Even now, when there is silence, I start explaining.

And I'm so wrong.  Just achingly, foribiddingly wrong.  Not the explanations, themselves, not always, just the urge.

Because there is a much more peaceful life to be had.  In silence.  And hesitation.  And admitting discomfort.  And not producing comfort for others to produce comfort for yourself.

And I'm not a mean guy.  No.  I just am not a weak-kneed one anymore either--that is, I'm not always as weak-kneed as I used to be.  And the transition isn't comfortable.  Except when I realize it doesn't have to be.  Anything, that is.  Not comfortable, or uncomfortable, or branded or not branded. 

At least I'm trying to be that way.  I'm trying.  And I don't have an explanation for why.