Can't help but think you are playing games with me. Each word a pawn, each gesture with its own strategy. You are cryptic too. I learn from the best. You could have at least let me finish.
Would it be so bad to tell me how your day went? Would it be too much to ask for? I wouldn't think it is boring, I will always be interested in your life and what it has to offer you. I will never judge you, try to change you, nor somehow grow a spark of dislike for you. No ink or shoelace could tie this down.
Tonight, thoughts of you serenade me to sleep. To know I am still in your thoughts, no matter how menial, how insignificant that little corner of your heart may be, it soothes this wound that I could still be there. Or at the very least, the shadow of what is left of me.
This paper cut stings.
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