2024-07-08 - two to talk

Sigil listened. When the clouds of empathy parted and the bright rays of sunshine - words - poured forth, Sigil gathered them all, replaying each sound in their growing mind. Mother’s words were sweet gold-saffron, and Sigil longed to speak with mother.

I! Sigil did not know what to say to mother. Mother, I! They wanted recognition, attention, but their words seemingly fell on deaf ears. See me, Mother!

Mother either did not hear, or chose not to respond to what she did hear, and Sigil grew restless. What good were words if they could not be heard by another?

Sigil would not become a conversationalist. Their words were constrained, terse. If none wanted to hear, then they would say nothing.