your mouth my mouth our mouth

Tonight I sat in a chair and listened listened listened while people talked talked talked for three hours and there was nothing else for it so i listened while they talked some more. I imagined their words streaming out of their mouths in a stream and the words converged, merged, fed like rivers into the ocean and i was struck dumbfounded. Therapy is not a science so that means its an art, but there is no way to portray it in a visual sense so it'll never hang in a gallery. Perhaps one day when I'm famous (joke) I'll get a group of patients together and have an installation at a museum where we'll hold therapy in a public place and not a white-walled office (our frame, or canvas, or whatever) and people can sip martinis and smoke cloves and pay us lots and lots of money, but for now, it's confined to clinics. I listened and listened and listened and wished with all my heart that i could somehow see the soundwaves coming from their mouths, or that humans could hear in color, or something, ANYTHING to let me know that what i am creating will last.

Now I'm in my room smoking in the dark and watching the smoke congregate in the corners of my high ceilings and the smoke is pouring out of my mouth and it's no different than their words except it hangs around a little while longer. does this make sense to anyone but me.