I'm Incredibly Flattered When People Tell Me

There's A Kind Of Radar That You Get, After Years Of Being Talked About And Made Fun Of By Other People. You Can Almost Smell It When It's About To Happen, Can Recognize Instantly The Sound Of A Hushed Voice, Lowered Just Enough To Make Whatever Is Said Okay. I Had Only Been In Colby For A Few Weeks. But I Had Not Forgotten.

I Was Just Stock In The Middle, Vague And Undefined.

But That Was The Problem With Having The Answers. It Was Only After You Gave Them That You Realized They Sometimes Weren't What People Wanted To Hear.

I Was Woundering What He Would Say, What Word Could Sum Me Up Right Then, When I Saw The Lights Come Across His Face, Blaringly Yellow, And Suddenly He Was Brighter, And Brighter, And I Asked Him What Was Happening, What Was Wrong. I Remember Only That Light, So Strong It Spilled Across My Shoulders, And Lit Up His Face, And How Scared He Looked As Something Big And Loud Hit My Door, Sending Glass Shattering Across Me, Little Sparks Catching The Light Like Diamonds, As They Fell, With Me, Into The Dark.

I Wanted To Tell Him So. Find The Right Words, String Them Together In The Ideal Way, Knowing That Here They Would Have The Best Chance Of Sounding Perfect.