...I feel nothing from you. Nothing from your look. Nothing from your touch. But I think I heard in a song once that “nothing ain’t nothing, if it ain’t free”. And god damn it lady, I’ve spent a fortune on you.
So then there’s something. I mean we have something right? It’s may not be crystal clear but I am sure if we discuss it long enough, we’ll figure out what it is. But conversation for you is always an internal battle. You’re so worried about not being smart enough, that you sound like an idiot. I promise, this time, I’ll sit, smile and listen. Please tell me your side.
Your silence is your only sentence. My sentence is the two years I have spent battling this silence. Baby, I don’t know what to say. You sit here, on the chair in the corner, with your dark hair draped over one shoulder. That’s so sexy, I am having a hard time thinking but I guess I should focus. So focus I will. My attention is yours.
Hmm, so silence with just a hint of whimper, is your speech. Well, that it is hard… is a hard argument to dispute, is it not? It’s “hardness” matches the looks you are flashing me. But again, it’s not a competition, it’s a conversation. Scratch that. It’s a monologue.
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