we are lacking passion, no doubt. in my little head, i like to blame it on you. couldn't you be more passionate. You'll never fight for me. I resigned myself to that fact a long time ago. I remember when I realized it. The thought hit me like a ton of bricks: You'll never fight for me. I can see you... shrugging... figuring that you ought to let me do whatever makes me happiest. How impassioned is that? If I have to force you to say passionate things, coach you all along... the words are empty, useless, fully lackluster... Remind you of anything?
If you were silent, do you think your friends would notice? I'm usually loud, jovial. I like to be seen as happy, whether I am or not. One day at lunch, I sat down. Someone asked me a question, I nodded my head. Tim commented on my mace earrings. I grinned and shook my head from side to side so they would bounce off my cheeks. Andrew asked why I wasn't saying anything. "It's unusual to have a silent Mary." I laughed and said that I hadn't meant to be silent. We moved to talk about the random things that friends will often talk about. Today, I sat with my usual group of "friends;" the friends with whom I fit so well. And today, I was quiet. There is a difference between quiet and silent. Especially when the quiet is you sitting, unsmiling, going through the motions and the silent includes you grinning and playing with your earrings. However, no one noticed. Isn't it odd? I think if one of my friends was bummed, I'd notice. If the were quiet, d...
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