Many Things

There are many things.
In the universe. In my life. In my dreams.
I’d love to tell you about many of them. In fact, I desire so badly to tell you about them that I divide my life in two basic periods: The precious, rare, fastened times when I am telling you about something; and the moments and hours and nights and days and seasons I spend wanting to tell you about them.
I am confident that much of it would be interesting. I’d tell you about my hometown, about my father, about Shakespeare, about the poems I’m yet to write, about my roommates, about how the ivies creep a little bit further up every year on the columns of Gould Hall, about the Japanese garden in Baltalimanı, about my hopes of going to China and Japan, about my travels through Italy, about Transtevere, about transitions and growing pains and about dizziness of the teenage years, about how it’s all going to pass just like a fading jetlag, about New England and about what goes on in my head as I lie in the bed awake and about what goes on in my head as I lie in the bed asleep and many many other things.
I’d love to tell you.
About the universe. About my life. About my dreams.
And not even because I’m a babbler or I’m selfish. I know for a fact that I’m not a babbler to you; and oh dear, if you suggest I’m selfish I might as well rip myself from limb to limb and throw the parts in the Tiber River.
I’m getting carried away. I’d love to tell you about the many wonders and terrors of my life—I’m a good storyteller, I really could make most of them sound like wonders or terrors even though I can never be sure if they qualify.
I’d love to tell you; but I cannot. One thing makes me keep my mouth shut. One single grave fact:
You have nothing you want to tell me about. Nothing at all.
Not that you have nothing. I’m sure you have an awful lot to talk about. Not to me, though.
This sort of a grave fact is of the sort that I first have to notice, then swallow down, then accept silently, then fake being grateful for having noticed and swallowed down and accepted silently; then notice and swallow down and accept silently all over again.
And try not to confuse someone who I wish to tell about things with someone who I think will listen again. For a while.