Just is.

Will it be any easier for you if I just stopped? It would not be easier for me, I tell you now. I am a rundown amalgamation of unexpressed alliterations. I feel, want, need and know what it exactly is that I want to tell you, though always I hide in the guise of non-concern. I say what you want me to say. I say what I think you need me to say. And in that way, I, truly, say nothing. That exact nothing is eating away slowly at the core from which it sprang. A paradox it may be, but it is, nonetheless. To claim defeat would be the wiser path. Such that I would not waste time and effort in the pursuit of you. Expectations non-existent, it would be just at as it is. But I do not want the nothingness. I fear the existence that did not include you.