It is not that I am not interested in idle conversation.
I just care more about hearing of your loves, your heart’s whispers, that which leaves you breathless.
It is not that I am not interested in the mundane.
I just care more about knowing of your silent dreams, your waking fears, that which commands your fullest attention.
It is not that I am not interested in the din of the crowd.
I just care more about feeling the comfortable silence, leaning into the whispered tones, that which is expressed when words are no longer adequate.
It is not that I am not interested in what you believe.
I just care more about seeing if actions belie or confirm beliefs, finding out if talk is merely talk, the truth that you are living.
It is not that I am not interested in the chains you wear.
I just care more about what sets you free, the pieces of you yearning to soar, that which takes you to a higher place.
It is not that I am not interested in what broke you.
I just care more about how you are stitching yourself back together, the texture and layers of your scars, that which causes you to still rise.
It is not that I am not interested.
I just care more.
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