A message that departs from the main topic       
   PROSE > Do You Understand?

You say you do, but I look at you, and I see your eyes.... They are the strangest shade of brown, have I told you that? But when you are confused as you are now, they turn dark like rain water.

The clouds have gathered. They are ready to pour.

Are you crying, my love? Or are these teardrops nothing but rain? I have hurt you. Why? I have caused you pain. (I have caused myself more pain.)

Do you hate me for it?

You say you don't know, but you refuse to look at me when you say the words. You have no idea how that hurts. It's as though the mere sight of me sickens you.

A thousand knives to my soul.

I want to ask you: Am I that repulsive? Am I that loathsome? Did you not love me...once, a long time ago?

I wish to rage! I wish to break something! But my face reveals nothing of this. I am a mask. I am wood. I am numb.

Am I crying? You seem to ask, watching and silent.

Are you? I ask of you.

I'm falling apart.

(I'm dying inside.)

I say to you I didn't mean for it to happen. It's not what you think. I say a thousand things to convince you.

I know that it's futile.

How can I explain something I don't myself understand?

You know me. (Your heart is breaking.)

Look at me. Listen.

Do you understand?

I'm not asking you to believe me.

You know me. (My heart is breaking.)

All I ask is that you listen. Please, listen.


Listen. And for a moment - at least, a fraction of that moment, if nothing else - let yourself go.

Will you do that for me?

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