silence can be golden, but silence can also be awkward. i find myself needing to fill it up with words, and so my lips part and the words start flowing. would it have been better to say something less true and more rehearsed? yes, probably. instead, the words on the top of my brain tumble out and over each other with a small laugh as punctuation. i watch as they hit the brick-wall-faces of my companions at the table and bounce back at me weakly. eh. i hear faint strains of john mayer singing in my ear.

conveniently, it's time to go. i grab my coat and head into the cold. i hate this feeling. i'm missing my friends that know me well enough that i don't have to sort through the words...
though somehow, when i'm comfortable, the wrong words have a way of creeping out less. it is a bizarre feeling to be joining someone else's group of friends; i am semi-pre-accepted, i am lulled into a comfortability that is built, not by trust, but by association. apparently that kind doesn't hold as much water.

so maybe i try too hard,
but it's just because of this desire.