This is why my cat and I must have a discussion.

I do not hate you back (though I know your disdain for me is boundless). Instead I feel bad for you (having no more time to read or indulge yourself). You have so destroyed your life that you have forgotten youth (and therefore forgotten imagination, creativity, dreams, hope for tomorrow, love for self, unrestrained recklessness, and outright professions of desire). You have become so consumed by material you are blind to your lost time (why do you work endlessly at a job you hate, to save up and escape it only momentarily). I regret that I cannot share with you (for shrouded though your mind is, your intelligence cannot be hidden). You have cut yourself off from those around you, and I am soon to leave also (for this day which was once never to come is now so close that I can feel the Event rising up beneath me about to erupt). (Yet I know even as it rushes to lift me up, there will be an equal darkness crushing you overwhelmingly.)

But we will not be apart ever, you have made sure of this (though I know not whether it was love or spite which drove you to brand me so). And maybe in many years once I have escaped your life and stumbled into my own we can sit over lunch and talk about this (for that is apparently the way to solve such problems as these; later in life once they could almost have been forgotten, broken picture frames in the corner of the attic, pulled out and repaired so that they can be hung up and reminisced over, us faking fond memories). But my silence will continue for the foreseeable future (though this future holds more of the Cycle for you, I haven't the slightest where I am going).