She’s like, “How are you breaking up with me? You’re ridiculous, this is such bullshit and fuck you anyway, you fucking idiot. It’s like, last week you’re like, ‘hey, remember when we went to Bermuda?’ and we should buy that little place we saw there with the old guy who didn’t have any kids. The old guy’s hut, or whatever. So what the hell is that? What’s wrong with you? Seriously.”
“Well I have a bit of a headache now.” I say.
There’s kind of an awkward pause, so I add, “because of… the conversation.”
“Fuck you,” she says. One of the first times we hung out, I asked you, like,” she sniffs, “have you ever been in love? And you totally said yes. You know what you said?”
“Yes. True.”
“You know, so whatever. But the point is, you’re like, ‘Yes.’ and I’m like, ‘so how did you feel when you were in love,’ and you didn’t answer that… because you’re you. You never answer anything. Then I was like, how do you fall in love, like, what makes you realize you’re in love or what happens to make you do it? And you said it’s hard to get but easy to hang onto, which is the opposite of what it really is, but whatever. The point is–what I’m saying is, then I ask you why it’s easy to hang onto, like why you feel that way.” She waits, then she throws up her hands. “So you go, ‘it’s easy to hang onto because it’s hard to get out of.’”
“Totally,” I say.
“Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“Yes.”
“So then if it’s hard to get out of then what the fuck is this shit?” she says.
“Well,” I say. “This isn’t really that easy,” I say.
“And then–you probably don’t even remember this because you only ever tell me you love me when you’re drunk, so–do you even know that? Do you remember that you told me that? You say all these things and then you act like you don’t even remember. So you go, ‘I love you.’ And you were like, ‘If you ever leave me I’m gonna get a tattoo of you right on my face, to ruin me for all other women.’”
She almost kinda half-smiles for a second but then she shakes it off. Then she just kinda chills for a while. And then she goes, “Do you ever even remember saying that, when you say things like that? Because–don’t act like you don’t remember saying that.”
“Well, you know…” I say.
“…I say a lot of things.”
Categories: Prose/Poetry
No Comments »
(7)
