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Occasionally, I think too much.A dangerous pastime it seems most people don’t believe I’m even capable of.Truth be told, I spend most of my time thinking. Pondering every event that occurs in my vicinity. Not always intentionally, however. Almost as if I’m trapped in my own mind. But willingly. Is that possible? Ah, who cares?I don’t actually talk much. If I did, I would surely be ignored. So, most of my commentary resides solely inside my own mind. It is there where my vocabulary expands and develops; constantly, relentlessly. I speak to myself while simultaneously taking in any relevant (relatively speaking, I suppose) information my brothers should divulge. Often, I find myself incapable of matching a commonly known phrase to how I would define my interpretation of their words and actions. And so, once allotted time to be alone and ruminate further, I search vigorously through the dictionary, thesaurus, and every website available in order to discover an apt term for whatever ideal I had been attempting to convey. I will be the only one partial to the information contained within this book, of course, however I feel an obligation to hold recounts of any event mentioned to their truest standard.‘But, Karamatsu’, you might inquire, ‘if there is so much proverbial refuse clouding your head, why not allow it to take shape in the form of words cascading from your mouth? Is it not maddening to be burdened by such things, constantly no less?’Yes, but you see, as time has passed by, it would seem I have lost track of my own personal development. Speaking aloud, unless in cursory statements determined only to pass on pertinent information, I find myself unable to prevent myself from...ah, how was it described? I had preferred the term ‘waxing poetic’, though it seems my darling siblings have selected another - being ‘painful’.Any time I should choose to make an attempt to speak with them, save for the aforementioned brief statements, I cannot seem to staunch the inevitable flood of words, words, words, that will spill from my lips at the mere thought of relaying my introspection, so usually kept silent, to the dearest beings my heart beats for; only afterwards, as I take notice of their looks of disdain, or feel their physical blows brought on by annoyance, do I fully realize my own actions.Sometimes…It makes me want to never speak again.