Shall we share a cup of tea on the edge of the mountain? You know the one. It’s just on the other side of the brick wall. The bricks are sealed with crushed bones and milk and if we start chipping at them now the wall will tumble before we’re old.
The mountain isn’t too tall. It’s more of a hill, really, but with delusions of grandeur more proud than you’ll ever know. The mountain needs us there. If we don’t chip away at the bricks the proud hill mountain will suffer from our selfishness.
Am I getting through to you? I feel like you’re not listening. You’re thinking about that thing again. The thing that keeps you awake at night, staring at the ceiling and listening to your partner’s deep breathing when all you want is a perfect silence that doesn’t exist in real life. If you’d just focus on the bricks and the mountain and the crushed bones that only we can remove, maybe your perfect silence would find you.
Shut up and make me a sammich.