Sunday, March 26, 2006

sunday morning

I open my eyes and look over at you, eyes still closed but I know you're awake, the sun shining on your face through the curtains in this neurotically spotless apartment you call home. And I know it's not really home for you. I know that you hate it here because it's so far away from all the people who really matter in your life. You hate this apartment with the ridiculous rent in a hurricane-inflated real estate market, you hate this state that I've lived in my whole life, you hate this part of the country and our odd obsession with ourselves as "southerners". You treat me with indifference, and I wonder if you only see me out of boredom or in search of an opportunity to talk about yourself some more. And that's all you seem to do when we're together, talk about yourself. I feel overshadowed by you. And I'm not sure you have any clue that I'm smart or funny or interesting too, because you're so busy telling me all about yourself and making it clear that you're hilarious and intelligent. I'm not sure who you're trying to convince, me or you, but I've gotten the point, you can let it go now and please just relax. Is it possible that you're really as self-absorbed as you seem? And if so that's unfortunate, because I really am quite fond of the idea of you. Maybe that's what I need to let go of, the idea of you, and then it'll suddenly be overwhelmingly obvious that you are never going to be right for me. It seems as though you're giving me the upper hand, because with every word that comes out of your mouth you're telling me more about yourself and missing an opportunity to learn more about me. Every time I leave you I walk away feeling empty, no matter how much I've been filled with information about who you are and what makes you tick, because I haven't had an opportunity to share any of myself with you in return. And for the life of me I can't figure out why I keep seeing you. Perhaps it's old habits of self-deprivation rising to the surface, or boredom, or a desire for physical affection, or both. I just never can walk away from a challenge, and this is the kind of game that by now I should know I'll never win.

2 Old Comments:

Wow. I feel like this is the story of my life, and you wrote it so beautifully. I especially like your opening. It is so poetic.

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By Anonymous Anonymous, at Sat Apr 01, 04:23:00 AM CST