All That You've Done

I'd like to know how it happened.

No. Don't give me a timeline of events. I know exactly what happened - I know the order in which it all happened; I know the role you played in this; I know the story you're about to compose for me.

I want to know how this all happened. And if you can manage it, I'd like to know why.

It's funny how you now have not very much to say. I seem to be getting a little mumble here and there but not much coherence. The story you carefully rehearsed in your head is now gibberish and, quite honestly, serves no purpose in communication.

I think you're not ready to talk about it - maybe the incident was too traumatic to articulate. Maybe you need some time, or rather, more time to conjure a story of how and why it happened. I don't know. I'll just leave you to it and when you finally have something to share, I'll listen.

I can hear the jingle of handcuffs in the distance. They belong to you and your hands, and I hope you're happy about what you've done.