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I hate talking. I hate it when someone asks me how I feel. It’s an emotion, for crying out loud. I hate it when I’m taking my time staring blankly then some callous person starts gabbing. I hate it even greater when people try to talk to me the minute I wake up - some nightmare at dawn. I hate it when someone tells me what to do. I am no moron. I hate it when someone starts to tell stories when I’m not in the mood to listen. I hate it even more when I’m not actually reacting and still they continue to annoy me, persuading me to give some stupid comment that’s supposed to compliment the way they think so that they’d be proved right. I hate it when people tell me things that I have no business in knowing. I give no interest in slander. I hate it when I feel weak then someone tells me that things would be alright. Oh please, of course I know that all would be fine. Just give me some time to use my license to pour out so called emotions and to think, if you know what thinking actually means.

I like it when people don’t pretend to know the right words to say. I love the boldness, the honesty. After all, I listen not to make my self feel better, but to lose ignorance and see rationalism. I love it when someone simply listens, and love it even more when we both know that there’s no real need of talking.

Ironic enough, the person with the very words that I have to hear at that particular moment is the same person who shares my appreciation of silence.

Then conversation begins.