When I was little, my grandfather fondly called me Motor Mouth, because I never stopped talking. My grandmother routinely cleared my dinner plate before I had taken a bite and then scolded me for not eating my dinner. The truth of it was that I spent so much time talking at the table, meal time was over before I had a chance to eat.

Silence frightened me. Empty spaces in conversations were big, scary chasms that had to be filled with chatter. If no one else talked, I did.

My head spins. Hundreds of thoughts might be turning around in my mind at once – opinions, ideas, ponderings, news… everything tries to push its way to the front to be heard. They all demand a voice.

Turn it off… slow it down… easy does it.

Take my hand. Pull me in close. Cheek to cheek. Sing to me. Lead me. Dance with me.

My mind gets quiet and calm. I suddenly have nothing to say and have to say nothing.

Except…

…how very much I’m enjoying myself.

Have I mentioned that I’m happy?

I’m really fucking happy.

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