My words never reach you. You, on your pedestal, have no time to listen to my petty complaints or needs. We fight, argue and never seem to get anywhere. A compromise only goes so far util we revert to our old ways. Like words written in the dirty window of a van. Seemingly perfect with smooth lines and intricate penmanship, but washed away in the smallest of storms. We will never be in stone. We weren't meant to be. This is how it will stay. A cruel and bittersweet cycle we pretend doesn't exist. But I wouldn't change a thing.