You look at me, waiting for me to say something. To respond to what you just said. And I remain silent.
There is a storm of thoughts going in my head. I don't know what to say, or how to say it. There are too many possible responses. And I need to go through them all. And not just that, but all the possible reactions they could cause. And how I should proceed from there. Entire conversations start spanning creating an endless tree of possibilities. And every branch has those undesired outcomes. I can't take the risk.
And how would I say it? Does it sound right? Does it sound something I would say? Does it sound too corny or cliché? Or what about there is a chance you would misinterpret it? Maybe I can't say it clearly enough, not in a way it's in my head. Not how I meant it.
It's been a while already. I see you are getting annoyed waiting for the answer. The silence turns awkward. Has it been too long already? Did the moment pass? If I respond now does it appear I'm trying to hide something and I had to think for an answer? Or that I don't know? Or it's something I don't want to say out loud. I should say something, anything. Just pick one of those branches that had least likely bad outcome.
But I remain silent. Locked in my head with my thoughts. Panic in my eyes looking for way out. But there is no way out. Not from this maze of endless thoughts. The prison I have built for myself.