There is always so much I would like to tell you. That, in itself, is the problem. All the words, all the feelings, trying to get out at once choke me into silence. To let one of these things out leaves all the rest inside. And even if I could sort out my mind and explain all this to you, the thought of doing so is paralyzing. Either you’ll be looking past me, not understanding what I’m laying before you, or you’ll be looking right at me, with your eyes burning into me at my most vulnerable. I’m not sure I could handle it either way.