Friday, December 18, 2009

paper dreams

It's always the same scenes, the same scenes.

"You have to get out of bed. I'm coming over and we're going out," he says.

"No. I'm wallowing. I don't deserve anything." She had a habit for the melodramatic.

"You can't stay in bed forever."

"Yes I can. You don't understand."

"Come on. He'll get over it."

"What are you doing? I'm coming over." It wasn't a question. Before the insecurity, before the paranoia, before the god forsaken feelings. She never used to be there to impress.

For awhile there, he was her sanity. For a little while, he was there. In the aftermath of the previous heartbreak, one she inflicted and not the former, when she sent a man traveling almost 2,000 miles before she realized, her heart wasn't in it. Her heart had never really been in it, but sometimes you want things so badly, you forget the difference between reality and chasing paper. He was of the proper ethnicity, pursuing medicine, settled, but the second he arrived at the terminal, familiar T-shirt, unworn Chucks, he wore them because he knew she liked them, but he was uncomfortable, in unfamiliar territory, he wanted to impress. It was over before it began.

"I don't get people who make their significant others their whole life," she says over the drone of the radio. Flipping her keys in her hand.

"Relationships take a lot of time," he says glancing over at her.

"I get that, but there should be balance. You can't make one person your whole life and forget everything else. That's not healthy."

"Well, yea, but it's hard," he says. "You won't know until you're in that situation."

What he believed she didn't understand. What she believed he didn't understand.

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