I used to speak of words I never truly understood. I still do—sometimes. Well, I try to avoid it: the facade of being knowledgeable or wise. But it is not only when this mouth opens that arrogance fills the air. For even when I am sitting, I am not listening. I am merely watching. This mind is saying, "I know where you're directing this towards; You can trail off and I will gladly finish your sentences for you; You can move on to what is next."

When in reality, I am beyond clueless. I do not understand the meaning behind your words. I simply parrot, repeating your every word. No need to worry about a missing punctuation or capital, I will do it perfectly. I will do it exactly as what you have done, exactly as what I have done, exactly as what they have done. Over and over again.

But that is not the point of all this, is it? Frighteningly, your words in mine are hollow—treasures turned into hypocrisy. Like a polished turntable without the air of a carefully crafted tune. I am sorry. I am trampling your diamonds, made perfect for thousands of years.

Let me try again and save my soul.