"Something's wrong?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Your shirt is white."
"So?"
"So, it's just white. There's nothing on it, no dirt, no ink, no blood."
"I guess you're right."
"Then what's wrong?"
"I don't remember how to speak."
"You're talking right now."
"That's irrelevant."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I'm running my mouth but I'm saying nothing. I'm thinking all these things, and can't say them. I'm sitting straight but everything's angled and I think I'm falling when I'm only standing still."
"I think you said that very well."
"Then maybe I forgot how to see."
"Have you?"
"Maybe. I'm missing something. It's like on the tip of my nose but I won't cross my eyes to see it."
"Cross your eyes."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't want my eyes to get stuck."
"Look at me."
"Hi."
"What do you see?"
"Your eyes are sad. You have a crooked mouth. Your hands never touch flatly on your thighs. You look wrong, but beautiful. Oh, sorry. I shouldn't say that."
"I don't think you're blind."
"I don't know. Maybe I have forgotten how to hear."
"Hear, or listen?"
"I can listen. I know what you say isn't what you mean, I can taste the fear on the back of my tongue when you look in only one of my eyes and say, 'no, I'm not afraid.' I can listen to the way your hands shake and your eyes dart to the left when you're nervous. But I can't fucking hear for the life of me."
"What does my heart sound like?"
"It sounds like it's crying, but sometimes like a nuclear explosion."
"I think you can hear just fine. And your sense of taste is alright, as well."
"Cause smell and taste are connected, right? Fuck. I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I can't feel. Maybe I can't live."
"Why can't you just be alright?"
"Because I can't be wrong. I want to know what I'm missing, I want to know why I can't breathe."
"What are you doing?"
"Controlled hyperventilation. I'm breathing, and it's beautiful. It's as beautiful as you. I can breathe and taste and see and smell and hear and feel and listen and I can't stop shacking or crying and I'm falling to pieces, but it's so fucking beautiful because it means I'm not dead yet."
