Quiet

James found that he wasn't talking as much these days as he used to. He didn't feel sick, and he was still going to his job and doing his work, coming home to relax and spend time with his friends. He was going through all of the same motions that he had been taking for some time. He just didn't pipe up as much in conversation. He didn't have as many quips to throw out, and he didn't feel a need to hear his voice. He didn't feel down or angry, and he wasn't growing tired of the area or the people around him. He was just growing quiet. He didn't feel the need to make noise.

He could see that the people around him were growing concerned, though. He tried to assure them that things were fine, that he was just going through something and that he would be fine sooner or later. But his lips didn't quite reach as high as they used to when he smiled, and his eyes drooped with exhaustion, and he just couldn't hide very well that he was feeling a little off. He felt as though he needed to take a step back, and look at the world around him, and reevaluate the way he looked at himself. But it was difficult to do that with all of the obligations he had.

Night time seemed to be when he could really sit down with his thoughts and give them some credence. He was concerned that he was stagnating. That his friends were moving forward, finding better jobs and make big decisions in life, and that he was stuck in place. It wasn't a bad place to be stuck. He made good money, and his job afforded him time to spend with friends or at home relaxing. His girlfriend was wonderful and loving. He had the pleasure of living with her and being able to see her and hold her everyday. And yet he felt like there was something more he should be doing with his life, that the people around him were experiencing that he was missing out on. He just couldn't put a finger on what that was.

The thoughts were always at the back of his mind. Quietly nagging away at him, asking him to give them listen, or to tell the people around him about them. But he preferred to stay quiet. They didn't need to know about each and every one of his fears and thoughts. They didn't need to know of his little, petty jealousies. He knew that they would be there for him, and that was good enough. He didn't need to ask them to help shoulder each and every one of his problems.

So he grew quiet. Not out of fear. Not out of bitterness. But because he needed to think, and the words that came out of his mouth were often thoughtless, and while that made them pretty funny at times, it meant that when he was speaking, he wasn't thinking. And that was something he didn't feel like doing at the moment. So for the most part, he kept his mouth shut, so that later on down the line, it might open wider than it ever had before.