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Seriously? I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore. Were we discussing something? Or arguing? What even was the topic?
I stop looking at him and glance away to the windows. At this height all I really see are the sky and the tops of other skyscrapers. Unless you go really close to the windows, then you will see tiny ant-people when you look down. These days I don’t go near the edge anymore; you won’t see me admitting it anytime soon but I guess the free-falling affected me more than I thought. But I try not to think about it much. Because I’m in a – I could say relationship but that’s not entirely true, and I could say there is nothing but that’s obviously a lie. Okay, I’m in a thing I’m not trying to specify with the person (god/ demi-god/ alien/ huge pain in the ass) who, you guess it, threw me out the windows.
Like I say, trying not to think about it, my sanity is already pretty questionable.
Where was I? Right. I don’t remember what we’re talking about anymore.
Because he just. Won’t. Listen. To. Me.
You’d think someone who prefers to look down on you rather than talk would be good at listening (he’d have to listen first to make that judgemental face, right?) but that’s as far from the truth as possible. It’s like he’s not even trying.
And yeah, I know, I’m not one to talk, just ask anyone. I like the sound of my own voice too much to listen. But that’s untrue, I don’t not listen, I just have selective listening ability. Because Pepper would have killed me dead if I really don’t listen to her (I do, sometimes, anyway, and listening is different from doing what she says.)
But when it comes to this bastard standing in front of me, I always listen. I don’t know why, really. Maybe because the things he says are usually fascinating enough to make me shut up and listen? Maybe I like his voice? Whatever the case, I may look spaced out sometimes but I do listen.
Apparently he doesn’t though. And it makes me wonder why I’m not even angry or overly bothered over that fact. I could speculate all I want, and some theories may even be true (no one ever listens to him, so why should he listen to them?) but I won’t have anything solid rooted in exact truth, you know? And why has it taken me so long to realize this? Granted my time in his presence is usually spent with me pressed against the nearest flat surface he could find, moaning and sort of brain-frozen, but usually I’m more observant than this.
There’s this sorta silence, when both of us have stopped talking and just kinda look at each other in confusion. Huh. Maybe he doesn’t remember what we were talking/arguing about too. Or maybe not, he does have scary good memory when it comes to certain things. Kind of like selective memory.
Well, I’m getting kinda off-topic, even though I’m not sure what the topic is. Anyway, I need him to listen to me. Having such one-sided conversations when the other party is not getting any input into their head, it’s exhausting. (You know how I feel now, my inner Pepper offers, imaginary hands on her equally imaginary hips. Ugh, not now Pep.) Mostly it’s just my ego that can’t accept the fact.
Karma really comes in small doses, I think, wondering how to even begin to broach the subject.