Talk? or Not?

Of late, there has been an angst that is been trying hard to build up, swirl and come up, vent with force but somehow seems lacklustre..
Is the gasping unreal or the effort untrue?
Is there nothing left to say or is there a stunt too subtle that is playing these games?
Like the seemingly undisturbed and perfect cover a patch of grass seems to assume, smooth and green and pleasant to the eye, but stare long enough, amongst the ripples caused by air, the creatures that go about their lives, busy and occupied, facing challenges, hunger, survival, mating, shelter and fighting them all...the life where every day seems like yesterday and like the day after, scratching just the surface causes in a windfall of stories, repetitive, complaining, boasting and at most times annoying, is there truly a dearth for content or is it the words that are deceitful and struggling to get out of the holds and grips inside my head?

The mask is different every time, the skins keep changing colour, the situations and details interchangeable, but these questions that are asked are same, only the syntax keeps modulating to suit my flat pitch or someone else's shrill screech or maybe your deep baritone.

The agony of making choices, the harsh surfaces that reality scrapes into existence, the pride that instinctively surges at making a choice against this backdrop to be followed immediately by jumping from one foot to another looking for a guarantee or even a sign that this is the right door and tunnel to enter, stamping down the slow unravellings of the ifs and maybes of the doors un-opened and the need to acclimatize in the role chosen, this entire drill of being and being willful at that, the predictable uniqueness of this rigmarole, does this actually need to be reiterated again and again?