Does it make me a creep or
a burden to care for your will?
Will my attempt at condolence
and understanding dilute our
bond? The less you accept it,
the greater the space between
us. That space may have mounted
from discomforts, but the farther
and farther it grows, the less we
know about one another. Might I
have another chance? May I
redeem myself, if at all possible?
I suppose it's plausible that my
evidently failed pursuit at helping
you purely pushed you away.
Thus, try, I will not. It's apparent
that my breath, and my words,
and my tears are wasted on an
effortless, cold soul. But my
observations and interpretations
are solely based off of previous
experiences, and that goes against
the underlying message of Tartuffe.
Wouldn't want that, now, would we?
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