June 23, 2003

Endgame

I would flinch, if you were to touch me. I would flinch, if you were to speak to me kindly. I would flinch, if you would remember me at all. I would flinch, if you were to thank me. I would flinch, if you were to care. I would flinch, if it were to matter.

All I have to offer is a kind smile, few words of comfort, neither of which I might not mean at all and the occasional refuge. I do not want any payment, nor gratitude, since it does not cost me much, nor do I need solutions to problems and mysteries large or small.

Since I am now face to face with the malady and fixing the terms of engagement on a race of attrition with a foregone conclusion, the symptoms have stopped being of any significance. The same goes for labelling, platitudes or any other overheads accruing from social interaction.

Maybe the intent does matter, but I cannot be sure of it. I could dissect it further, take it apart and examine it to the last atom, but what does it matter when as a whole I cannot make any sense of it? But honestly, I do not have an issue with you, it is just me whom I do not want to give any quarter to.