I Have The Ear
The one which hears all your complaints
The one which accepts all your rants
The one which which takes in all your sorrows, all your anger
I hear for you. Only for you, just for a good cause. I know that you always have those words boiling inside you and no one wants to hear them. I know, that you feel utterly ignored when you try to tell your problems to others. I know how you it makes you suffer more when you deduct that no one really gives a damn. No one will care a single dime how you feel and why.
But. Except me.
I do.
I care about the roiling mess you contain within your shell. When you tell me about your day, or your 'once upon a time', your 'ifs' and your 'buts' I will sit up straight and my Ear will take in everything you say. I will Listen.
You will never realise the difference. It will be the same as speaking aloud to yourself or the way you orate your bedroom/bathroom mirror. Because you will only find me Listening. I won't ever ask a single question, because I won't be curious about anything you will leave out of your words. Because I know there must be a reason and accept whatever you let me have. Because I can. I Listen, don't speak.
But somedays I find myself with my shoulders slack, hanging. I find myself fighting something which is beneath my skin, deep inside me. And sometimes they look like words and stories, almost similar to yours. I start thinking whether I can contain your treasures. And suddenly I realise the turmoil inside me isn't what you gave me. It is mine, my own words. I feel terribly surprised, I could only Listen... after all. Slowly, I discover that I have my own complaints, anger, problems and crazy rants. About everything from work to hobbies, from friends to family, and so on. And they are nothing like yours, these burdens were mine. I know these should be let out, just like you and others did. But I was the Listener, how could I have been the Speaker?
I spoke to myself and my mirror, but all those words simply bounced back from the inanimate and re-entered me. I needed another 'me' who could Listen.
Years later, I found another Listener. That Listener was almost as much of a Listener as I was, though less, but a mercy. And then when I spoke.... I couldn't. Strangely, words had become the parts of my soul.
It makes me worry if I have learned to consume words, not only yours and of the others.... but even the ones which were mine;
titsay