We can listen. Stand in the streets and ride the hum. Mannered lives in generic audio mess. When we speak our voices take like light and fill windows and tops of trees. Turn corners to soak in brick alleyways. You could say your voice feeds the city. You could say this vibrant wash over downtown erases the meaning of each of your words.
So stop talking. Build a new form of communication. Cut your tongue. Hold my hand and smile. Bow and step aside as each one of us grows bigger. Because just once I would like to meet you and not say my name. Could you follow? Is there anything I could do that would show you I care?
Think movies. Film. Cinema. In the night a man in a room opens a window, the wind blows his hair into his face. He pulls a comb from his pocket and brushes it back. He has yet to turn on the light. This could be vanity. Self conscience action. All you have to do is watch the face.
Don't worry that your life is a constant hiss. A shouted static when no one listens. This is the way it goes and goes.