traceusback
"We can fix this, we can fix this, we can fix this thing," you say over and over, like we're not broken beyond repare, like that's not broken glass on the floor, like that ringing in our ears isn't the gap between us growing larger.
When I was a child you called me your darling duck and you were a child then too, do you remember? You liked to pretend you weren't, of course, because that's how you are. If you don't wear rain boots when the weather man says rain, then it won't rain.
I'm not hearing what you're saying, not one word of it. All I can think about is that time when my dog ran away and you drove around with me for three hours in the dark until my mom called and said that the neighbor had found her, and I was sobbing and expecting the worst and you held my hand the entire time and yelled her name almost louder than I was. And now what you're saying is, "I think it's time for us to go our separate ways," and I feel like I aught to apologize to you, say, "oh, that's okay, it's not like I believe in true love or anything," because you shouldn't be feeling bad about this like I can tell you are. I knew this was coming, I guess, somewhere deep inside my heart, but now all my heart is saying is, I hate you I hate you you asshole I hate you, and I'm trying not to hear it.
You've got a poster of a photograph by Robert Doisnos up above your bed. It's two dogs, sitting side by side on a street in Paris. We'll go there someday, you tell me as we're lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, as you're playing with my fingers and whispering promises I'm not sure you'll keep in my ear. Tomorrow might be one of those days when my pants don't fit because my shirts are all the wrong color and my hair won't fall in the right way, and I'll look stupid and say something stupid and something will click in your brain, something that says, maybe I've made a bad choice here, maybe I shouldn't be making promises to this girl with the too-tight jeans and toothpaste-stained shirt and tendency to stare at her feet while she's talking.
Don't you dare scold me, not now, as you're standing there wearing two different colored socks and half the buttons of your shirt undone. You didn't make the bed this morning and you always leave your half-eaten meals on the table when you're done with them. You only do things in halves, and yet here you are, standing in front of me with your arms crossed, staring at me like it's all my fault that the faucet is leaky and the car needs an oil change and if we don't play the bill soon they're going to turn our electricity off. All I did was burn dinner. The least you could do is the dishes.
Slight of hand, isn't that what they say? It has something to do with card players or card tricks or people with butterfingers who drop things and catch them at the last minute. But it feels like the way I can't hold on to you, the way I turn around and you're gone even though I swear you were there a second ago. You're a magician, you know that? With the way you keep tricking me into thinking that you're going to stay.
You spill your cereal and now there's a puddle of milk and lucky charms on the floor and I want to scream at you, because I'm tired of taking care of you and cleaning up after you and making sure you don't lock your keys in your car. When are you going to start taking care of me?
You do everything forcefully, with purpose. You look straight ahead as you walk, never at the ground, and you look everyone in the eye. It's the most disconcerting thing in the entire world, talking to you. I feel like you can see everything I'm thinking, like you can tell that I'm terrified of you, terrified of losing you. Someday I might not be part of your plan anymore.
You piss me the flip off, you say.
Are you serious?
What?
We're having this huge fight and you can't even cuss at me?
I don't want to cuss at you.
Why not?
Because you don't deserve it.
But I deserve this? You're a hypocrite.
You started it.
You did!
No I didn't.
Hey, do not kiss me right now.
You think you can just smile that smile and cast your charms on me and I'll follow you home like the dog that I found on the corner of 8th and Washington last week. But I know your smile's hiding something and your jeans are just a little too tight, and I'm not sure I'm ready to find out what keeps you awake at night just yet.
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