Dear Rose,
I’ve started and stopped so many times, but your inability to see the obvious forces me to do the obvious. I love how you can martyr yourself on a cross of your own making. You know, the first time I saw you, I thought how you can wear the weight of the world like linen. Then, as I got to know you, I realized you just use it to shield yourself from reality. The more problems you can solve for someone else are problems you can distract from looking inside the black hole you call yourself.
Are my words harsh? I hope so. I tried to be the bitch slap you needed to wake you up from your own nightmare, but you are too stubborn to listen. For all your gifts, each came with a string. You make an indian giver look selfless. Maybe one day you can realize that the world is not a metaphor. Love is not poetry and you can’t make pretty words do anything but move eyeballs from left to right. If you want things to be different, there is a thing called action. You talk til I’m blue in the balls, but you just do nothing. You whine about the things you can’t control, as if you have no idea that choice is always yours.
Now I’m sure you will blame me for the tears you will assuredly cry, because that’s what you do best. I have never met a woman who deludes herself so well that she can fool others. I let you in because I could not help myself. Once you were in, you became the roommate everyone hates. Making messes left and right, complaining that you do everything while you do nothing that matters. You worry about me cheating on you, but where were you the nights your phone couldn’t get signal? Oh right, your phone worked the next day when you called begging for forgiveness.
You love to tell me how smashed plates can’t be fixed by I’m sorry, but those are your favorite two, amongst the thousands you babble. You became a bad habit, and I decided I needed to quit. I did it as much for you as for me, because I just can’t keep trying. I do not know what you want from me, but it’s never going to align with your expectations. So please, continue trying to be perfect, and holding yourself up to standards you can’t meet as you beg me to join you. I can’t, and I won’t. I never could keep up with you anyway. It’s a shame you still can’t figure that song out, but I can’t say I’m surprised. In the meantime, here’s one to hold you by. Of all my mistakes, you will always be my favorite.
Love,
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Mah Butt Itches 