Anything you could possibly think of to say to me will not bring me down. I'm not worried about it. All the dirty tricks that you could pull on me don't even concern me. Your presence doesn't concern me, and the lack thereof doesn't bother me. The fact that you choose to ignore me, to not acknowledge my existence? Well, so be it. I don't even care. In fact, from now on, I'm not even thinking about you.
The way you look today doesn't cross my mind, even when everything you do stops me fast, raptly attentive to whatever you're doing. Your gestures don't surprise me, your posture doesn't make me wonder about you. I'm utterly unconvinced that you could possibly spark some part of me that desperately wants to be lit up, to jump alive with the character of a chance spark, falling upon dry leaves and igniting them so fiercely that the flame never leaves my memory.
When you talk, your voice doesn't move me. I don't feel the very essence of my being having itself shaken to its foundations when you discourse on a topic. When I talk to you, it's merely talk, nothing more, nothing less. I don't hang on your every word, I don't ponder what is meant by the allusions that you make. The whole of your intelligent phrasing and sensible reasoning that are pronounced in syllables slide by me without garnering a second's worth of thought space in my mind.
The way you smell has no effect on me. The scent you carry with you doesn't bring a tear to my eyes, it doesn't make me think about what it would be like to be near you for the rest of my life. I'm not caught off guard by it, and I refuse to admit that I would even try to conjure its memory in my mind at another point in time.
The way you feel in my arms has no hold over me. You've never made me feel as if I was whole, only while holding you, or that I'd be better off not letting you go, clinging to every desperate moment, just to know that my tactile senses were experiencing you. I'll not find time in my day to rue the fact that I'm not able to run my fingers through your hair anymore.
And the way that your lips taste... I...
Who am I kidding?
This has been a nodeshell commando action.