“Should I be concerned about the things you hate the most? I shouldn’t. And what if that which you hate the most is me? Should I be concerned about it? I shouldn’t. This makes no sense, I want to be concerned and I don’t even know you.”
“You don’t.”
“You answers. I hate them, always so vague, so complementary to my questions, a simple negative, a denial. So perfect, so lame.”
“You’re now insulting me with poetry?”
“I am.”
“You are.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re not.”
“Wanna see?”
“No.”
And she left. Once again. It’s difficult to remember something else than fights.
I keep wondering when are the good times coming?
The part when is the other way. Me not remembering the fights.
Is it possible to go back?

Dr. Noon

[Mrs. K i t e ]