Yielding Nought.

Miss Y and I spent hours tonight talking about You.

How You made me feel/felt.

How It began.

How I ran away from You.

How It has mapped out thus far.

I cannot say that I don't feel a thing, for I am only human.

Neither do I wish to remain trapped within the continuum infinitely.

We spoke of the Hows.

But nought resolved the singular Why.

And maybe, just maybe, You think of me as undeserving to have a proper Answer, a resolution of sorts.

Am I right?