We Think Too Much, But Feel Too Little

Flash Fiction by Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri

Mama’s absorbed in metaphors. Bully beat me. Do you love me? Thinking, darling. Should my protagonist be drunk? Emotionally distant?

Do you love me?

Thinking.

Sister Nancy plays precision. Do you love me? Missed a note. Teacher called me dummkopf. Tears rise. Not now. She flicks a hand.

No one’s hugged me in months. Years. I feel rage, sorrow. Imagine myself withdrawing. Turning into a writer, a pianist, a lawyer, thinking, thinking.

One night, I take blank pages, scrawl a line from The Great Dictator. Leave them on Nancy’s piano, Mother’s typewriter.

We think too much, but feel too little.

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