A very loud place.

You called me from your living room and asked me all sorts of questions. Not easy questions either. The kind that you have to sit and think about for a couple of minutes before you can really even begin to answer them. But I couldn't hear you:

"IM IN A VERY LOUD PLACE RIGHT NOW"

Everyone else in your house was sleeping and you were patient at first, repeating the questions in a hushed and steady voice. These are very important questions, and I'm the only one who really knows the answers. Because; Who can you trust these days? And I wanted to answer them, I really did. But I couldn't hear you:

"IM IN A VERY LOUD PLACE RIGHT NOW"

You stepped out back. The night was colder than you'd imagined, but you didn't really notice. The questions were the only thing on your mind. On my mind too. You raised your voice to express your concern, to emphasize the questions and what they mean. To you. To me. To us.

But I couldn't hear you:

"IM IN A VERY LOUD PLACE RIGHT NOW"

You're yelling by now. A warm fog shoots from you with each syllable and diffuses into the cold night. I want to tell you, just as badly as you need to know. But I can't hear you:

"IM IN A VERY LOUD PLACE RIGHT NOW"

Let's talk about this when we're near. When it's quiet and we're close.