pushed to the edge of frustration. [a snippet]

“so.. what else..”

(trans: what else can i bother you with..)

“nothing else.”

(trans: i don’t feel like talking)

“sorry, you just seem a bit depressed lately.”

“grunt”

(trans: yes, now leave me alone..)

“whats the matter?”

(trans: talk to me)

“i just don’t feel like talking about it, i’d rather hide from it.”

(trans: leave me alone, i’m sulking)

“what’s up?”

(trans: talk to me)

“nothings ‘up’. its just a fucked up planet, nothing’s changed from last time you asked me this.”

(trans: leave me alone, we’ve gone over this before)

“what’s so fucked up about it?”

(trans: i’m gonna bug you about this till you tell me.)

“i don’t feel like talking about it.”

(trans: leave me alone)

“sorry.”

 

so am i. but don’t push me. when i feel like locking myself away, the last thing i need is someone trying to pry open the door, to get a glimpse of the storm inside. perhaps the intention was good, but i don’t really want to contemplate that. i’m relatively content in my hole, and i don’t want someone else trying to fix it, or make me see the world from a romantic perspective. a cosmetic surgeon can’t fix this.