You, how annoying, that desperation in your voice. Always asking about me, so obvious you want me to ask in return. Maybe I hate it because I see this desperation in myself, something I try so hard to hide. The pointless things I say, wanting to have something more interesting to say, to sustain conversations.

And you, so you sense that pointlessness in whatever I said. Yes, it is for the mere sake of having something more to say, something more than how the day was, how disgusting that sounds. Go on, ignore it, be just like me. Lie about falling asleep, about being busy, white lies.


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"you're always talking about how he's great, patient, everything. Everything about him, how he talks to you and complain that I don't, how he doesn't make you angry.. how he takes thing so much more easier" bet you don't remember the times he's shouted many years ago.

"you know, that's because of yourself. Of course I have reasons to dislike your attitude, the times you've made me sad when your lock yourself in, not willing to speak to me, how you anger me so.", the dreaded reply I cannot forget.