“Dutiful tin cups push us all into the water hazard that houses several above-average octopi who hide until disrupted by our splashing.” You lapse back into languagelessness after you’ve come up with a decent sentence regarding the state of the universe. Since you’ve now done your job for the day, you can sit expressionless in the corner, wondering why words are so difficult to come by all of a sudden.
“Talk? Me? Why do I need to open my trap? Is it required of me as a human being to jabber on about my situation, even if I don’t fully grasp what my condition is? Are people content to fill the silence with their voices, even if what they’re saying doesn’t mean anything? That seems like an exercise in futility to me. Oh crap, I’ve just filled up this once-golden silence with my whining, haven’t I? Well, at least nobody’s here to judge me based on my word vomit.”
An iguana has been basking in the sun this whole time. It would happily remind the human that a witness has been present from the start, but it just wouldn’t feel right to fill up this glorious new silence with more superfluous language. It continues to bask in silence.
WHARVED 