I question your motives and intentions. I question the nature of our relationship. And I question the validity of your perceived value.
It’s impossible to write without considering ones audience. Without the audience, there’s no hook. There’s no message. There’s no purpose. Or is there?
I read a book of poetry once that was nonsense. I hated it. It could be that I was not educated enough to understand the message, which I don’t think I can know for sure without admitting it to someone else who has read the book to get their thoughts.
I turned page after page, struggling to read the lines and make sense of them. It’s not that the diction was complex. All the words were ones I knew. Perhaps it was the arrangement of the words? Perhaps there was too much disconnect between one thought and another: too many images and not enough continuity or central focus.
Whatever it was, it didn’t last long. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I’m paranoid you don’t really like me. That you hang about because of something besides providing me with this daily therapy. I worry that you will abandon me, or worse. I’m bearing my soul to you and I can’t tell if you really care.
I feel as if I’ve spent my entire life thinking about Gods that only listen and never respond. I’ve made deals with some that turned out to be demons. Somehow entered into contracts without ever having been convinced to sign on the dotted line. How in the universe do they do that?
I blame the part of my humanity that is soft and green and trusts too much. Yes. I just confessed that I recognize that it is all my own fault. But who or what made me this way. Was it nature? Was it nurture? Was it a different God?
I think this is the second time recently this subject has come up which leads me to believe there’s an important message or lesson in it that I need to learn. Alas, it is the second time that it’s shrouded in obscurity and nonsense.
How many times do I have to begin to find a way to get to my point and make you understand? I’m worried about you. I’m worried about us. I’m worried that the gap between us can’t be traversed or something so much worse. That it was never meant to be. A chasm too vast for building bridges.
I want to be friends. But that takes two way conversation.
I give up.
Love you anyway,