I wish I could find a way to say all the things that are beating inside of me, almost in time with my heartbeat, but not quite. They are feelings and impulses, flashes of light and color that I can’t even begin to formulate into sentences. It’s not even that I have the problem of figuring out what to say after the fact, it’s that those words are on the tip of my tongue right then, pushing at the backs of my teeth, but I can’t bring myself to say them. You look so grown up. I wish I could make your day better. How are you, really? Shut the fuck up, you stupid asshole. There are so many things I want to say, but sometimes I think it’s better I don’t say them.