Damn

What says the rock to a broken tree. It says nothing. For rocks don’t talk. They would sit in silence, but neither sit. They tip their hats in formality, but quickly remember they don’t carry hats. In fact, they remember they can’t carry anything. They can’t even carry conversations. The two inanimate objects who may have the most interesting viewpoints, ideologies, and one-liners are forced into silence by their own inability. Just as I am strangled into solitude by my own ineptitude. I am in a shroud of formality and indignant underhanded phrases. Damn it all.