And I called you my twin.

Give me a break. No, seriously. Give yourself a break too, while you're at it. So you think that you didn't deserve it. That you are stabbed, and beaten, and wronged? Who are you deluding? Do you really think that you deserve better? That given what you want, what you 'deserve', you wouldn't turn around and do the same that you rant about now? That things would be perfect, and all lovely in this perfect world of yours. Where you shall reign, with them lapping up every word you say, and loving you for it. That they should stand naked in front of you, shivering, defenceless, at your mercy. And you think you would caress them and make them feel loved. You would take care of them. You would nourish them, fondle them, and then send them off to their respective cages while you amuse yourself with the current favourite.

You pretend to feel. You say a lot of things, in your grand tongue, a thousand metaphors and tortured imagery. You pretend. You feel nothing. You display the nothing. And your crawling insects come and peer into the nothing and marvel at the depth.

You rave and rant about how you have had a bad bargain. How you have always loved more than what you have got. That you have been cheated, betrayed, hurt. People don't open up enough. They don't recognise your love. Have you ever halted in this never ending string of complaints and reflected? To look for a possible reason? Why on earth would they open up to you?? Do you even realise how little trust you inspire? How dangerous they perceive you, you with your sugarcoated cooings and never-ending 'earnest' declarations? I listen to you and try to look sympathetic. I offer comfort, for I still like you. Unfortunately for me, I like you. Maybe it's because I see it. The facade. And the complete lack of realisation. It's incredulous how much you delude yourself of. You think you're any of what you expect from others? That you actually deserve to be treated like you think you should? Sometimes this short laugh escapes me when I'm listening to you. You look at me questioningly and I brush it away. I can't tell you all this. Not because I don't want to. But because you are lost to me, when you're like this. You have to decide. For yourself. All I can do is hope for sanity to someday reach you. When you would be human again. But there's a sinking sensation that tells me that you're forever lost to me.