I think in your eyes, I’m really invisible. Even I yell with anger or tremble with stress; you spare no effort to give me some comforting words, even a smile or greeting, though I know for sure that you’ve noticed my bad mood.
Friends should share happiness and sorrow with each other, at least should care each other. You are like a black hole, unpredictable and swallowing everything. I understand it’s your character that decides you’re not good at managing relationship. But I’m tired; sometimes think my keen replies to every post on your microblog to cheer you up are ridiculous, like reading a poem towards a robot.
It’s a little childlike to be so sensitive, so I’ll give all the frustrating feelings away and focus on my tasks. Leave all these chaos to time to test it, or even burry all completely.