You send me messages, you bang on the door, but I don’t feel like talking.
Most people say “I don’t feel like talking” but that’s talking.
And I don’t feel like talking. At all.
So, I don’t respond at all.
More messages. More screams. “Why aren’t you talking to me?”
I know why, and I could tell you, boy, could I tell you.
But, once again, I don’t feel like talking.
So, I say nothing.
For days… weeks…
The nights are colder, quieter.
And I reach for the door to the basement.
But you’ve probably starved to death by now.