Did You Ever Really Know Me At All?

I look at your face, and it's a blank mask. There's no room for dialogue; no space for understanding. That's fine. I don't have the energy, or the will, to try and make you see how much you have misunderstood me over the years. You will never realise how far off the mark you are about me, and have been about me - over, and over again. My face must look very much like yours. Completely closed up, completely blank.

In another time there would have been tears, or fury, perhaps even a searing pain. But how many times can I learn the same lesson? How many times will you ignore the truth? How many times will I let you see me oh so wrongly before you reluctantly, disbelievingly change your mind? I have no new arguments to try, I have no conviction that you might even believe. I have cried enough, tried enough, raged enough. You just don't want to see me.

I'll let it be. Let you think what you want. I can't prove anything to you if you're not willing to see. So I'll just let it be, and quietly wonder if you ever really knew me at all.