The Ins

Insincerity and insecurity, one caused by the other, neither realizing which starts first. We cloak ourselves behind and find the way around the insecurity, when we are together. The insincerity is dropped but as we part it is assumed the insincerity continues and it is shameful how we let that wall down. The kitten claws my lap, indifferent to my pleas. As indifferent as you. My voice must be infinitesimal although I hear myself speak, perhaps only in my mind. Indefinite time frames shrink my voice and my irritation is intense. Which is the infidel? The one that betrays their mate? The one who betrays themself? The pagan, the saint, the sinner? Intentional disregard of confusion, is that a sign or is it really just disregard? Are you really so inane or are you just really good at ignoring? Perhaps I’m like the inch-worm, interesting to watch but not something you want crawling on your skin nor under. Infatuation is fed, not smothered, as insane notions should be. Information has been passed on a one-way street and I make no further inquiries to obtain insight. Meandering along this path with no real destination, waiting only for the inevitable, wondering if our differences are too incongruent to be overcome. Indecisiveness at your insolence leaves me like the kitten on my lap, indolent, tired of clawing, and pacing and purring and narrowing my eyes against the sun. I put on my sunglasses and ponder the infinite.