citrus

I wanted to write about something. A sound. Children usually hear it. I used to too. But I don’t anymore. Not unless I listen very carefully. It’s like a high piercing sound and crickets at the same time. If I had to draw it, I would draw a straight line with a zigzag line running over it. Two distinct sounds, yet one. I think sometimes that it’s blood rushing and I can hear it. A child asked me what that sound was the other day, the same way I used to ask my father what it was. I knew what he was talking about, but I didn’t know what to tell him. He was suddenly holding my hand. I knew he was afraid. He said that you could hear it in the kitchen. So I went to the kitchen to listen. He was right. I said come, come listen with me. He refused. I told him not to listen to the sound anymore. To listen to other things. It has the capacity to make you go mad.