Now, I don’t want you to move your lips. I don’t want you to make a sound. But in your head, in that quiet, dirty little theater behind your eyes, I want you to say a word.
The word is “happiness.”
Don’t say it out loud, you dumb bastard. Just think it. We’ll do it together, a little silent prayer from the church of the damned. On the count of three.
One.
Two.
Three.
…
Did you do it?
Alright, one more chance. Don’t fuck it up this time. Ready? In your head, just the word.
Happiness.
…
Now. Here’s the question.
Who the fuck said that?
Think about it. You said something, a word, without moving your goddamn mouth. And the crazy part? You also heard it. You heard it, clear as a bell, without a single sound wave hitting your ears.
So who was the little bastard who whispered that word in the quiet of your own goddamn skull? And who was the other poor sonofabitch who had to listen to it?
You said something without saying it. You heard something without hearing it.
That’s the real you, motherfucker. The one behind the curtain. The silent witness who’s been sitting in the back of the room, watching the whole goddamn, pathetic, beautiful, ugly shitshow of your life, and he hasn’t said a word.
He was there when you were a kid, getting the shit kicked out of you. He was there for your first drink, your first girl, your first lie. He was there for the marriage, the kids, the divorce, the whole goddamn train wreck. He’s seen every ugly thing you’ve ever done, heard every pathetic excuse you’ve ever whispered to yourself in the dark.
That’s the consciousness behind it all. That’s the real you. The one who has to watch the movie.
And he’s the only one who knows the whole goddamn story.
