Scrapping the blood from the cracks in the floor, I see you for the first time. I'm afraid you won't like me but I talk to you anyway.
"I'm afraid you wouldn't like me," I explain.
You say that's perfectly normal and that even though you did just meet me you really do like me.
I say, "I'm worried you're not even listening right now."
"Again, I think that's normal," you say. "But I really am listening."
"I think if I told you that I don't really like you and am not really listening to you, you'd walk away and forget about me," I say.
"I think I would too," you say.
