The Dialogue Of Love, Will Tear Us Apart

The picture I had in my head when I penned this was that of a shabby room (of which, unfortunately I'm much to accustomed to).  It's dark and there is just a little lamp on and it's a shitty room with a bed and two nightstands on each end of the bed.  And a table by the door.  A typical shitty room.  It's raining and from the looks of it it's late.  The ash tray is overflowing.  The room smells of smoke and whisky and perfume.  It's the living out of a suitcase lifestyle.  The down and outs.

 

She stood in front of me naked, except for that painted on smile she always wore after a few drinks.  The rain taped the window, mocking me, calling me out, exposing me for what I really was.  And for the first time, that night I that we'd become the furniture.  Stagnate, stationary, and sanitized.  We'd become mummified into the images we'd projected of ourselves.

"I know you don't really love me."

She broke the silence with a sharp honesty neither of us were ready for.

"You think you're different, or special and that you're meant to be alone.  But I don't think that's it at all.

I sighed, "I didn't ask you what you thought, and I really don't give a shit about your drunken half realizations."

"You're just scared.  You're just scared you're going to love someone so much one day that you'll have no mystery left.  And you'll be at their complete disposal.  You're just a scared little boy who needs to be miserable.  We all see you for who you are...you couldn't fool anyone if you tried."

She said it like it had been building.  They weren't words, it was an exhale.  It was her body purging these feelings she'd been trying to keep inside.  It was her exhale of freedom.

"If you know me so well then why the fuck are you still here?"

"Because I love you"

"You don't love me.  You love the thought of love; the concept, of never having to be alone again.  You'd love anyone who'd give you the time of day."

"You should know."

"At least I'm smart enough to know the only person worth loving is myself.  Loving someone else is just fellatio of the soul.  You lift them up to the highest point then let them fall farther then they were before.  Love and God are words people like you use to keep from living a real life."

"Ohh but bars and whores are a real life.  You're a miserable bastard."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I hate you."

"Now your getting it.  One minute you wanna fuck me, now you wanna fight me.  Beautiful feeling isn't it."

Sobbingly she whispered.

"I hate you."