sooner or later you will get tired of being the afterthought to the irrelevant blip to the quiet buzz they play as background music whilst they go about and on and around their day to day
it'll get old, this detail you've become in the big picture that they play in their head
the triggers and pulleys that move the weight of their moral compass will spin oddly just outside of your reach and you'll wonder how that came to be, how your words became music without words, muzak, sound without distinction, whisper without the delicate touch of a meaningful silence

sooner or later it will matter just a bit to matter just a lot and you'll ask

for

more

and if you have any hope of being more than a bit player in the aftershock that has become your life, you'll run screaming when they turn around and offer you less than you ever imagined you could feel the weight of in your tiny, balled up hand