We are both standing in the street, you are speaking to me, but I am hardly looking at you. Your every attempt to cheer me up boils my blood, I am convinced that you are not doing a good enough job. That if it were sincere, it would be working. There is a too-long pause after a joke you probably knew would fall flat. I break the silence with a new train of thought, a whole other level. I am taunting you new, wishing for nothing more than to take your jovial spirit and never see it return. I ask you cooly, if you know how it is impossible to find someone amusing when you are in a mood. You catch my drift, but I am not finished. I resume, sharing my idea, telling you that it makes me think. If a loved one is not entertaining to the other whilst bitter, when the other doesn't want to find that person funny, or enjoyable at all, would the opposing notion not also have to ring true? I state, matter a factly, that any person wants to find their friends funny, clever, fun; if they are in high spirits then they make those around them seem great. The moral being that nothing is real, and no one likes each other as much as they hoped. You retaliate fruitlessly, deciding that in does not in fact work both ways. "It's funny, you're just so mad you don't want to find it funny." My lack of response declared a stale mate, and I must be any awful person to be around, on more occasions than simply the grumpy ones.
I appreciate and love you so much, and not simply for your tolerance.
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