I don’t share my thoughts the way I once did. Apparently I failed to translate my thoughts the way I’d have to do in order for the person with whom I was sharing to really understand. So, rather than suffer through attempting to explain things that should have been evident from the way I presented them, I stopped sharing. That was both a gift and a curse. I miss wishing someone would understand my thoughts; but I don’t miss wondering whether someone to whom I had just exposed my soul judged me a lunatic. My answer is poetry and prose; I expose more of myself in those forms of expression than I ever did with my voice.
