I think about experiences
 that are impossible for me
 to experience.

I understand
 what you said
 you understand.

You understand
what you heard me say—
when I told you
what I understand.

We misunderstand each other
often.

I like it when we misunderstand.
When we talk about it.
When misunderstanding
becomes a way
to understand.

"How dare you say,
 ‘I understand.’"

"Isn’t that what you wanted?"

You confuse me.

I want you to know
 that you don’t understand me.

I want you to ask me
to explain
what I understand—
so I can understand
what I understand,
so you can hear me
tell you
what I understand,
so you can understand
what I understand.

Do you understand?

Yes.
Wait, no.

You understand
yourself
better
when I tell you
to explain
what you understand
about yourself?

That’s right.
It’s only when
I try to explain
what I understand
that I understand
myself.

That doesn’t happen
to me, she says.
“I understand exactly
what I mean
when I speak”

I wonder in my mind
how to respond.

What does she think
of me
when I don’t
always understand
myself?
When the urge to speak
gets away from
clarity.