I Don’t Always Say Things, But I Think a Lot

Sometimes people think I’m quiet. 

I’m not quiet. 

I’m just… thinking. 

My Brain Is Busy 

When you see a cloud, you see a cloud. 

When I see a cloud, I see a dragon eating marshmallows. 

When you see a worm, you see dirt. 

I see “Sir Wiggles the Third.” 

My brain is always making stories. 
It’s kind of loud in there. 

Just not out here. 

Words Don’t Always Come Fast 

Sometimes grown-ups talk fast. 
Sometimes my sisters talk faster. 

And by the time I figure out what I want to say… 

The moment is gone. 

So I draw it instead. 

If I give you a picture of a dinosaur in a cape, 
that means I was thinking about you. 

That’s how I talk when words hide. 

Switching Is Hard 

If I’m drawing and someone says, 
“Okay, time for chores!” 

My brain goes: 

Wait. 
But I was just in dinosaur world. 

I can do chores. 
I just need a minute to land back on Earth. 

Switching feels like jumping from one moving trampoline to another. 

Sometimes I wobble. 

I Notice Stuff 

I notice when Mama’s shoulders look tired. 

I notice when someone says “I’m fine” but doesn’t look fine. 

I notice when the house feels loud. 

I don’t always know what to say. 

So I do things instead. 

I’ll feed Bobby Wasabi. 
Or practice piano. 
Or hand you a drawing and pretend it’s “just because.” 

(It’s not just because.) 

Little Wins Feel Big 

When I finish something all by myself? 

It feels like fireworks inside my chest. 

When I remember what I’m supposed to do? 

Boom. Victory. 

When someone says, “Good job, Graham”? 

I glow. Like… actual glow. 

Okay not actual glow. 

But almost. 

I’m Quiet, Not Empty 

I don’t always say everything. 

But I feel a lot. 
And I think a lot. 
And I care a lot. 

I just do it in my own way. 

Usually with crayons. 

Or googly eyes. 

Or a hug that lasts longer than you expected. 

And if I hand you a picture and say, 

“I made this for you.” 

That means I was thinking about you the whole time.