I was quite sure I was going crazy. For years I walked around talking to myself in my head. I know we all do this. But as well as the usual internal dialogue, I imagined not conversations so much, as monologues.
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The kingfisher chooses a perch from which to call and be heard. I choose this perch when I need to listen.
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Your words, a candle
on a bare wooden sill,
talisman
against the baying night.