I don’t know if I should ever write about you again. I’m exhausting myself, of positive energy, of sanity. So maybe I shouldn’t, right? Is this right? So what is this?
Maybe just for the last time. And then I’d let the words linger until they disperse themselves, into oblivion. You have this weird habit of coming back. What do you want? I don’t know what you want. I asked you this many times. But you just can’t give me an answer. What is ‘I don’t know’? Why don’t you know? How come you don’t? That’s just getting things more complicated because I want to know, I wanted an explanation for what we had.
We never did things right. I can’t talk. And you can’t ask. I wanted you to ask, but you asked the wrong questions. You wanted me to talk, but you couldn’t see through my words. We had barriers.
But you kept coming back.
I’m tired. Let this be our end.