Stupid boys and their stupid charm--or lack thereof.

Your chilly words lead me to wonder what you have become. Who are you? Your birth certificate proves that you're legally an adult now; however, you're acting more and more like a toddler restricted from playing with his favorite toy. I don't know what you expect me to say--I'm sorry? That’s where I get stuck. I'm sorry you feel hurt and disappointed. I'm sorry I'm the one who made you feel that way. But I refuse to apologize for speaking my mind and telling the truth. I will never feel sorry for the way my heart feels. (It has a mind of its own.) Save the simple for the simple-minded. I prefer heavy baggage and multiple layers. Jiminy Cricket harped over and over again that this would ruin our friendship, but I silenced him, convincing myself you were my best friend and you would remain by my side though thick and thin. I was wrong. If that’s the kind of love you'd give me, I'd rather be alone, believe me. It’s not the way you're supposed to treat me. I'd rather walk away.

Tell me about your last relationship.
The good times were worth the bad times. Essentially, I lost the people I cared about the most, my two best friends, but I learned a lot. I'm finally okay. I think that's an important part of the story.

I said from the start that you could take it or leave it­­­­--I prefer that you keep it--don't let it go. Don't let it go. I feel something. I feel something real. I feel something dangerous and exciting and new and spontaneous--I feel something I'm not used to feeling. I'm trying my hardest to stifle those feelings and keep them out of my heart's hasty reach. I spy danger ahead. I'm moving in three months. I can't feel this way. I shouldn't. You convince me to give it a try and my rebuttal is always the same: “I know better than to mix business with pleasure.” “Business and pleasure work well together when business doesn't have a girlfriend.” This is the best thing that I've ever had for real. We've both been shattered in the past by people we thought we loved and burned by our closest friends and we've been terrified of the future but we've triumphed anyway. We've been hurt. But we have also glued ourselves back together again. The odds are against us. You're this way. I'm that way. I believe this. You don't believe anything. I make all these lists and all these charts and I reason with myself but then you gaze at me with those deep, distinctive eyes and I forget why I ever questioned us in the first place. We don't have to be perfect to be right. You smoked the demons, gave me back my feelings; now, I am good to go!

Don't be a liar--don't say that everything's working when everything's broken! I shouldn't have to sleep with all the car keys in the house under my pillow. "You don't know this yet, but life isn't supposed to be like this." I'm tired of fighting and screaming and crying and having nowhere to go. I'm tired of excuses and irresponsibility and anger and blame. I'm tired of being backed into a corner, being pushed up against a wall, being stuck between a rock, a hard place and the nearest gas station. "It's not supposed to be this hard." Grow up or get out.