Come to me, and I’ll tell you a song. She said, then proceeded to melodically repeat the words, “I’ll wait for you, I’ll wait for us,” for the next ten minutes. Her voice, a sullen deep cry, and when it neared the ninth minute, her voice became a whimper. A harpischord would’ve accompanied the voice well, though it was infinitely unnecessary. Yet I remained unphased. The words seemed no more cordial than kissing a woman’s hand during a greeting and no more heartfelt than reading a letter from a dead lover. The bit of humanity I had left was wept over the sunflowers I placed on her gravestone. This is one way to birth a nihilist, another is to shatter and contradict everything they believed in, and I’ve had both. I’m sorry you feel I don’t open up my heart to you, but that’s because I gave it to someone long ago and watched her slowly take it with her into the next world.