“and Anna begins to fade away.”
~Counting Crows, “Anna Begins“
I think I’m going to stop writing about you.
It’s not like you ever read my work anyway.
Not like it ever truly mattered to you.
Or I ever mattered.
Truly.
To you.
I always wanted you to read. You knew this. And you would hold out your not-reading as a carrot, dangling just out of reach, waiting to see if I would jump for your attention.
You always wanted me to ask you. I knew this. And I would hold out my not-asking as withheld attention, waiting to see if you would ask me first to ask you. Me, steadfast in my stubbornness in my unasking.
If I have to ask you to read my words, my emotions, my self poured on paper,
is it real?
If I have to ask you if you love me,
is it…
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ugiridharaprasad 