It sort of goes like this

“It sort of goes like this.”

He began to hum the tune as if to himself, not loud enough for her to really hear.

Hmm hmm hm hm hmm. She would never get it from the quiet, humble mumbling he thought sounded like the song he wanted so badly to remember. It began to bother him, not only that he could not remember but also that she didn’t seem to be able to help him. It was not what he wanted then.

“Any thoughts?”

She never had any thoughts he thought. He thought about all the times he had thought she wasn’t thinking of anything. The ability to not think is a rare thing, to be admired, he used to think. Now he thought that it was simply, simple. He no longer admired the lack of thought that he felt from her.

But nobody can think of nothing, he thought, in a way that squeezed his thinking. Nobody can never think of nothing, ever. He became emphatic with himself. In his own head the voice of someone which he thought sounded like the voice of him but didn’t, started to sound as if this thought had to go further and finish.

How can you be so blank, calm, blank, calm? He wanted to say. It didn’t show on the outside of his body, his face stayed calm, blank even. He had the ability to be angry and smile, convincingly conniving. His thoughts thought themselves into existence. One after another.

1. Nobody can think nothing

2. Nothing cannot exist

3. Nothing can not not exist

4. You must be thinking something…… please….

“So, any ideas? Anything come to mind? Do you recognise the song?” He listened to the voice that wasn’t quite like the voice in his head that he thought was like the sound of him in the world. He had the faintest note of pleading in his voice; as if the sense of pleading would be taken by her and noticed as the note of a need, a need for her to be what he needed right now and she would think of something and that something would be some thing, any thing the right thing and he could be on the inside as he was on the outside. Pleading can sound like whining. He had listened to his voice and had heard the sound of pleading, wanted be heard and answered, wanting to be heard, wanting to be wanted, he found himself wanting.

He wanted to ask her again but thought that wanting to ask her again was too much to show. Too pleading. He thought about how he didn’t know how to show. He thought too much. He went to the edge of his ability to think and came back. He thought that when he was not thinking he was not the person he thought he wanted to be.

He put the photograph back in his wallet and thought about how to stop thinking about her.