Hoping that this time will be different.
That you'll finally find the right words.
That someone won't just hear what you're saying, but truly understand what you're trying to express.
And sometimes, you catch a glimpse of it.
A look of recognition. A moment of curiosity. A small opening.
And you think, Maybe. Maybe this time.
So you try again.
You explain a little more. Offer another example. Try approaching it from a different perspective.
Not because you love talking.
But because you so desperately want your words to finally reach someone.
And then the conversation ends.
Life moves on. The other person moves on.
But you're left carrying everything you still haven't managed to explain.
Wondering how many more times you can do this.
And perhaps the hardest part is that you don't even have to blame the other person.
You can see that they're trying. That their intentions are good.
And still feel the despair of never quite reaching each other.
Sometimes you're not tired of fighting.
You're tired of hoping that one day you won't have to fight anymore.