A Void

2 A.M. What's the point of writing words when you know they won't be seen? What's the point of pouring your heart into them? Why would you take the time to choose words you know wouldn't be given a single glance? What's the use of searching into your memory trying to find that happy moment? Why would you revive a feeling in it when you know they do not remember it because you do not matter anymore? What's the word for crafting letters to outpour what you need to say when you know they will not reach their aim?

5 P.M.

What would you say if you heard me say this? Would you think what an idiot, a child that refuses to "grow up" or would you genuinely have empathy for me? God! I hate doing this. I hate talking to you like this, to write it on paper, videotape it, audio record it, but never say it to your face. Confrontations were never my forte, but that's not the only reason for which I avoid talking to you.

I am also afraid of disappointment.

I've heard you hint at what you thought had happened, and it was quite disheartening, to say the least.

Oh, how I wished to say how dare you? How dare you belittle its essence referring to it that way? You can disassociate yourself from it as much as you want now.

I do not care.

It only shows me once more that you are not worthy of all the love I've always had for you.

A point on which I think you would agree.

I think. I do not know for sure for I will never ask you myself.