Saturday, 7 March 2015

Being Forgotten

Nothing's as cold as being forgotten. Nothing stings quite so much as being ignored. When you live and love and try your best to treat others with kindness. When you listen intently to all their ramblings without so much as an interruption. Then, when it's your turn to speak, they interject, change the subject, check their phone. They shunt you out into the cold and hold you down in the snow. They don't respect you. They don't wait for you. They don't value your opinion. They only speak for the sake of hearing themselves talking. It makes them feel good about themselves when they let someone else listen to them. They gift some poor pleb like you the opportunity to bask in their glories. They claim to be your friend and then don't speak to you unless you initiate the conversation. Don't invite you places and don't include you. So you sit at home living off old milk straight from the bottle; all your cups and utensils having been piled stinking in the sink. You sit on the part of the couch not covered in rubbish and laundry and wonder how long it would take anyone to find you if you just slit your wrists. They itch because you think of it so often.

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