This tiny slice passed to each other and handled so delicately, timing each and every pause, glance, and bated breath.
A spar? More like a fluttering of words, branching out into categories or endings; no backtracking now.
I am a hypocrite; I hide behind my veil of hidden meanings, weighing the words, while trying to decipher you, and I don’t know who I should blame when I fail to do so.
such cruelty, spinning round and round within the different pathways. Who?
I do not know the numbers. Is this the last such exchange? Possible, this dictates another ending/a different route to take/the same old, same old
I cannot see it. I cannot see you.
Working hard to get rid of the sugar, I present my thoughts, or so you think. Or so I think.
Can I replay this? Can I save this? Can I do it all over again?
I do not know, and I walk away, still imagining consequences.