if you say a word over and over again it starts sounding like a different language

Maybe I should stop telling you or anyone that I think.
That I think about you, or anyone, anyways.
That I think about you, or anyone, when I see a certain clump of grass that looks particularly green.
That I think about you, or anyone, when I smell baking cherries which I hate and you or anyone loves.
There's an intimacy, difficult and delicate, in this network of thinking.
These heartstrings that loop in and through things that only matter to me, that connect me to you, or anyone, they seem to tighten and stick like drying muddy shoes.
And I walk in them.
Walk x 54.
I make knots in the laces that used to be soft and new but now crunch in my hands.
I think long and hard about you or anyone and I want to tell you.
You x 23.
But maybe there is a point at which I shouldn't tell you, or anyone, that I'm thinking.
Maybe I should let the delicate things slip into the never-opened box of valuables that I often forget I still have, somewhere back there, or did I throw it away after all...
Forgot x 47.
Forgetting x 42.
Forgotten x 73.