this is not a love of passion. this is a love of convenience.
i have a car, you have a bed. we both have that which is necessary for good sex. we can talk about anything, but nothing ever gets resolved. we're just sounding boards.
it's comfortable. i like it better this way than when you were an asshole alcoholic, but damn, baby. i'm bored.
so maybe that's why i'm screaming at you every morning as i run out the door for work. today, you stopped taking it personally and just flopped around and faced the wall. that was depressing. maybe that's the only way people can deal with me: ignore, deny, abuse. i'm used to it.
so maybe that's why i'm the one who falls asleep annoyingly soon after sex.
or maybe i'm just tired.
it seems like you don't sleep at all anymore.
and i'm looking for signs: should i break up with you now, or stay around until i leave for san francisco and refuse to let you follow me? that'd be a lot fucking easier. i'm not attracted to other guys, i don't want anyone else ... i don't want anyone. i don't even want myself. how could you?
this was never forever.
and i'll never get over The Incident, so you can just forget about that. i'll always feel like you owe me something. you'll always just break even. i'll always feel like no matter how shitty i treat you, you've done me worse.
we haven't completely switched roles, but i'm definitely the asshole now.