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Harlequin
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Conversation once colored by esteem...
Here's for honesty, mon ami, here's for bluntly assertive, here's for running and screaming past the line of "passive-aggressive".
What do you want? You want it to be how it was? Walks for green tea, kisses at the end of my street, "Je t'aime" as every other sentence? When what was true didn't really matter, as long as we could completely ignore it for an hour and a half or so? You want to celebrate the last hour of Fall? We can, let's run around and hug telephone poles 'cause Spring is here! Or would you rather not? It is, after all, one step closer to Summer, one step closer to HIM COMING BACK. You knew about him! You were warned about him! You were warned about -me-. I won't even take that back, no matter how cocky it sounds, let's cut the bullshit and be honest and open and truthful and LOVE AND PEACE. I guess it's all just hopes, though, unrealistic ones, when there's no good solution. Would it be better if I lied? Better if I pretended? I can, if it'll keep the scars from your skin. I can do the chameleon thing if that's what it takes. I didn't do it sooner because, to be honest, I didn't think it would help. I thought you'd see right through it. But if lying's your game, let's play. It'll be fun.
I'm drawing deep breaths right now. I don't believe this is about love, or amore, or yelling "te amo." I don't think it matters if you're a hopeless romantic or if your room has rafters.
I'm not angry. Don't believe? It's the truth. Not angry. Impatient and tired, yeah. Not angry.
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