13 January 2026

I hate talking to you

Maybe I hate talking to you 
when I can't write. 
Maybe you are a mirror 
that reflects my face
whenever I can't write. 

What I mean to say is 
I start running away from you 
Because I can't face you 
with writer's block. 

Maybe you challenge the 
only purpose I am left with
and maybe that kicks a 
small midlife crisis.

Maybe you demand me to 
become worthy of a 
conversation, and when I 
Get away in dejection- 

And eventually when 
sentences land on 
fingers like melodies-
There's this urge for 
validation that brings me 
back to you.

Should this feeling have a 
name or it shouldn't? 
I leave that to failed 
Therapists.
 
I am just happy knowing-
you make me write,
and I can breathe in peace 
for one more day.