“I just want to write” she said. “Except everything is all too loud.”

“Loud?” he asked. He’d been looking out the window at a neighbors’ balcony where a lone tea-towel had fallen from a clothes line.

“Do you ever feel like your mind is messy? Like what you’re feeling today is what you were feeling three months ago, except it’s only now that you’ve found the time to actually let it sink in?”

He turned to her now and focused intently on her face. She’d been in a light mood all summer, with her dark eyes that somehow seemed to be always smiling.

“You take me as quite an orderly person. Is it like you to be messy?”

“Not really, no.”

“But you feel messy inside?”

“Yes, something like that.”