Simple

"Say something!" she demanded.

"No."

"You’re thinking about something," she insisted.

"I am."

"Well…" she prodded.

"Well what?"

"Tell me," she coaxed.

"I can’t."

"You’ve got a mouth, don’t you?"

"Rhetorical."

"Use it." she demanded

"I am currently using it."

"Use it to tell me what you are thinking." she said, tired.

"It can’t do that."

"Why?"

"Because…"

"Because…you are pulling my leg?" she mused.

"No…"

"Because….you ar-"

"Because it’s not simply."

"Oh," she said, almost as if to apologize but she didn’t know what she was apologizing for.

"Yup."

“‘Yup’? You can’t just say ‘yup’ after saying your thoughts aren’t simple.” she exclaimed.

"Well, I did."

"Not allowed!"

"Allowing it. Look up at the moon for a moment."

"Okay…"

"What do you see?"

"Seriously? You tell me to look at the moon and then you ask me what I see?" she acted defiantly but I just stared straight up at the glimmering sphere. She gave in. "Fine. I see a yellow ball, floating in the sky, made out of cheese."

"But it isn’t."

"No, it isn’t, but that is how I see it."

"How you understand it. You can describe it, because there is some common language and symbolism between us that allows for you to describe a complicated thing as the moon like a cheese. Because of your experiences, you are able to simplify the moon. What if you…couldn’t."

"Couldn’t simplify the moon?" she thought about it for a bit, while we both watched the gleaming night sun. "Well, then I’d be at a loss for word."

"Exactly."

"What were we talking about again?" she said jokingly.

"Oh, why do I even bother?"

"Aw, are your thoughts as big as the moon?" she tapped on the side of my head.

"You know, sometimes I swear I listen to you more than you listen to me."

"Well, sometimes you are wrong."

"Sometimes, sometimes."