Thursday
"Je n'en sais rien." A shrug.
"Stop that. I hate it." A scowl.
"Je sais." A blink.
"Fuck you--what are you even saying?" Another scowl.
"Tu sais."
It wasn't always like this, tu sais. Our conversations weren't always a shrug, a scowl and a blink. But now they are, because je ne sais plus ce que je dis. It's as though we're speaking two different languages; we can't seem to understand each other at all anymore.
YOU ARE READING
Post Meridiem
PoetryI'd do anything to save myself. Hell, I'd even change the world.
