28 4 / 2011
I call her and she starts to cry. I can’t take it. I’ve had enough of her telling me that nothing will change so I write about things that are numb. I don’t feel a single thing when I kiss her. And I feel nothing when she tells me she loves me. But still I stay. I watch her as she sleeps. I watch her shovel food into her mouth. I watch the sweat drip from her as she struggles through her daily run.
She cooks the steak medium well with mushroom sauce and a rocket salad. She presses my shirts after she washes them. She bakes cookies and cupcakes and muffins for the weekends. And I paint her portraits hoping to fall in love with her.
I curse her under my breath when she asks me a question while we’re watching a movie.
I abandon her rabbit at a park and tell her a child ran over it with his bicycle.
I make her cry to see if she works up the courage to leave me.
I get high and tell her that I want to cheat on her with her sister.
I don’t know why she stays.
I force her to cancel dinner plans with her friends and she concedes.
I tell her she’s getting a little fat and she works out twice as much.
I call her to tell her I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to hurt her anymore. I don’t want to keep lying to her about where I’ve been.
She starts to cry. She tells me that she’ll change.
She tells me that she can’t live without me.
I tell her she can do better.
She tells me that she loves me.
I tell her that her feelings were never reciprocated.
She promises to be better.
I tell her that I have to go.
She swears that she’ll kill herself.
I hang up.
She doesn’t kill herself.
I don’t write anymore.