Whisperings and soft speeches, blurtings and loud blunderings. But mostly whispering. They tickle my visible brain. Of whom do they utter and what, I ask. Whispering, madly away? Small, short breaths, a sudden intake of—small, short…shallow. Why now, to stop? I force my head to turn. No smile today, I see? Not today, says me. Long sighs, short breaths. Whispering again. I look down at the muted words. But even text, it does deceive. Why so small, that I may not read? I am neon once again, glowing bright, subject of those whispering. Whispering, madly away.