I was asked how I was one occasion after another. My thoughts were earnest in attempts to respond truthfully. After much contemplation, I decided “good” worked beautifully. Now, questions are fewer; as to my state they don’t bother.

My response time is quicker, but accuracy is other. I cannot recall the last instant I thought willfully about my presence and conveyed it easily. None now ask, not my father, mother, or brother.

So I silence my mind. For none ever knew the question was unkind.

Mental torment I’ve been through, encircling the facts, I find are caused by “how are you?”

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