You'll be here for a while. Get comfortable.
I don't know who this woman is.
I look at the ceiling, and I hear the door close.
"Do not worry. This is confidential. Do you know what that means? Confidential?"
She's writing down words. She's writing down names.
"What can you tell me about her?"
Her. She knows everything about me. Everything there is to know, and I didn't need to tell her anything anyways.
She knows the way I think, the way I react, the way I move.
"...I can see you're having trouble finding a place to start. Why don't you tell me your favourite happy memory with her?"
I feel guilty, but it's not my fault I have nothing to say for myself.
YOU ARE READING
Poems probably
Poetrythe later parts are a lot better than the first ones in my opinion poems and random stuff i want to put on here
