Book "Every Word You Can Not See" By Iain S.Thomas

I don’t know why, but I do not feel like I’m like you, or anyone else. I feel like I’m the only one who feels the things I feel, or thinks the way I think. I’m worried that I’m taking everything too seriously, or not seriously enough. Sometimes I want you to see me, and sometimes I want to disappear.

I don’t know if I’ve ever truly felt like the ground beneath me was ?rm. ?ings always feel like they’re moving and I never get the chance to catch up to them and when I do, it feels like it all goes too quickly. I am nice to people I don’t like because I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m waiting for something but I don’t know what it is. I often walk past people in the street, and I wonder if anyone else is waiting too. I don’t know if I’m ever, really, “Here.”

I don’t know your name. But I do know that it was beautiful to your mother and that the ?rst time she said it, and decided it was yours, she smiled. I know she said it several times after that, like the words to a beautiful song only she knew. She tried it on like a beautiful summer day. I do not know what you do for money, but I do know that sometimes, whatever it is, it’s di?cult. I do not know whether you are rich or poor, but I do know that regardless of how much money you have in the bank or how big your house is, numbers have never stopped the world from intruding on happiness. And sometimes, things are hard.

I know that, once, someone touched your hand and you did not want them to pull their hand away, but they did and this made you sad. And for this reason, I also know that sometimes you smile even when there’s nothing to smile about. I know that the grass grew while you were sleeping. I know that somewhere on the other side of the world, the sun shone on people you will never meet. I know that at least once, if not several times, someone you knew woke up in the middle of the night thinking of you and wondering what became of you. And they’ve contemplated calling you out of the blue.

I know you have a tiny scar on your body that only you know about, that only you see now. I know you remember how you got it. I know your body will be cold, after you die and that right now, while you’re reading this, is the only time I can guarantee it will be warm. I know that the sun will rise every single day until it doesn’t, until there’s no more reason to. I know that time itself holds you tight. I know that you get ink on your ?ngers and don’t know when it’ll come o?. I know strangers can stain your heart in the same way.

I know sometimes your brain is too loud and your heart bangs on the ceiling with a broom, screaming, “Shut up, you’re going to ruin this for us.” I know sometimes, it’s too late, and the music plays on.