Question Me.

"You didn't bother to think." Your gaze, accusatory. It always is. Without fail.
"Since when did I think?" My gaze, avoiding. It always is. Without fail.

You've wondered for a long time what the words hope and pain meant to me. Want a dictionary? Sure. Go ahead and read the definitions. They don't mean a thing to me. What about truth and lies? Let's see. I never bothered to look those up. Why not? Oh. Yes. Because they don't have definitions, love.

"That's the problem."
I smile.
"Problem?"

What's the thing that you call it? ...Oh, yes. Right and wrong. Rules. Definitions. Fences, borders. Whatever it is. Apparently I cross those too often. Apparently my head needs to be screwed on straight. Want some news? Maybe you're the one that's confused, love.

"You're always evasive."
It's a statement.
"Always?"

Logic, isn't it? That's what you depend on to tell you which way to go in this crazy maze, right? But didn't you forget-- mazes are meant to confuse you. It's not supposed to make sense. Like me. I don't make sense. Want an answer? I'm a dead-end, love.

"Stop."
Strained voice.
"What?"

It's called frustration, isn't it, what you're feeling? I wouldn't know. I've forgotten about feelings. I've forgotten everything you call important. Like mathematics. Or answering. I don't know how to be you. it's like you trying to breathe underwater. Want the truth? It's impossible, love.

"Leaving."
Tears.
"I can't."

And ain't that the truth.