Too short, I was there, then...

After starting to develop spoken language. I babbled a lot between the ages two to three. Then for infantile reasons I shied away. Needing information, whilst at risk giving it away. Spoken language now came with a price tag, As too often the wails and cries of a child do. Cruel words all sound the same. Didn't listen. Focused on a multi layered blank canvas, So I never missed a hint or breeze of change. An eyes look, an expression expressed behind. The turn preempted by a sense of pressure; Fear memory alerting muscle memory. Catch the release to ease by a close peer. The direction of the storm is not them but me. For the witness of, encountered nice people, The gentlest embrace, declaring just you wait. The hidden tone, of when we get home, Painted in detail across the softest motherly face. Most valuable nurturing in communication. Later I found I knew how to read every non sound. A hundred unspoken conversations in a crowd. Hidden sadness and still to be revealed joy. I speak now with my ugly mother tongue; Listening to words said before the speakings’ begun.

I'm a good boy I already subscribed. Does that make me efficient?

Convinced to invest in new panes to shelter from the storms of the world. But the cost of my pains shattered my belief in the comforts of double glazing.