Clear Head
She makes it hard to love her.
Stupendously hard. Beating-your-head-against-the-wall hard. But it's mainly my fault, so I try to keep my mouth shut. Most of the time.
But it's not fair for her to treat me like I'm trying to hurt her.
And then I remember that there's a word out of place there. Anymore.
I wasn't even trying to make her cry in the first place, you know? It wasn't even my idea; it was Christian's idea because he's an immature suckhead like that.
I don't know why I said yes. I was just waving my dick around a little, talking out my ass to him. Besides, who would be hurt by Trish and me having a little fling? I'd get a good lay, she'd get to fuck ME, and everyone would be happy. And a day later, I'd have a steady lover and a little change to pick my nails with.
One bad decision can do strange things. At first, it was about the money. Surely, my charm and my courage would win her back, but I was out a whole loon! But she smacked me across the face with a whole, expensive bouquet of roses. They were as good as a sledgehammer to me.
Maybe it was my fault, for spending so much time with her, for actually listening. But, damnit, she's crawled into my head. I can't look at her without thinking of the things we did, the things we should have done. Made me listen, changed me without even thinking about it. Now, like some sucky Eric Carmen song, she's all I can think about.
She's eaten my brain, chewed it up, and spat it back out at me.
But if that's true, why can I see my feelings with the clarity of a hippie?
And why does it feel like someone ripped my heart out of my chest?