I give up. You win. You and your "unbreakable" wall that won't let me in. You and your little bubble which has a balcony to the inside. You, who drift from one day to the other completely uninvolved.
You, who believe that everything can be erased and rewound so easily. This is not to be done hastily. And stop thinking that you can mend the wounds left by your mistakes with an overtone of non-regret and a handful of crocodile tears, those which are born already dry.
Leave me here useless, speechlees. Be tactless, thoughtless. And remain aloof from the reproachful questions I don't ask you and the bewildered looks I don't throw at you.
Because I'm utterly exhausted. Of your haughtiness and oppressive silence; of your masked laughter and your pretended truth. But above all, it is your stubborn unwillingness to open yourself that leaves me worn out. And I'm so sorry to tell you that I've used up all my energies trying to reach you. And I'm so sorry to tell myself that it's high time I realised you're unattainable.
Don't dare you call me unfair, because you have no idea whatsoever how much it hurts to feel so frustrated, how harmful your lies have been and how outrageous it is to accept you made fun of me all this time.
I give up. You win. Go on. Leave me outside and give me no explanations. Don't pay attention to this sorrow and let me write these futile lines you'll never read, just as you never really read those three pages of pointless embrace.
It aches to admit that I can't stick my neck out for you anymore, stranger.