You don’t know. You don’t know. YOU DON’T KNOW.
She screams. The harsh blast of her voice falls on deaf ears.
I cannot tell you because I do not trust you. Do not respect you. Do not know you. Not anymore. Not like I used to.
She is silent. She is silence.
She has been this way for too long.
Fractions of a voice. Fractions of a person. Fractions of a life. Your noise bombards her like acid raining on her head. She does not want you near. Not now. Not now the blindfold has gone.
Those looks of puzzlement. The query in your furrowed brow. Do you think I didn’t see? Didn’t see it there? There, where it is plain to see for anyone who looks to learn rather than to judge? What do you see me as? Why not speak the questions that rest on your face like war paint? Why not ask what you are afraid to know if you are already wise to it? Is this your face of fear or your mask to hide it?
I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your time.
I wish I knew what it was like to have time. Time to spare, to laugh, to run, to joke, to chat, to miss, to mourn, to sleep, to understand, to stop. To listen.
Use your time wisely, waste it not on the fickle of mind or the feeble of heart. Waste it not on me.
I won’t waste mine on you.