she's just the flavor of the week (who can't fill my shoes)
We are telling each other that it hurts like hell, but I'm really thinking how normal this feels. Biting my lip, I am tasting your tears again. Darling, come on, we've been breaking up for years. We like to whisper things like "Whatever you want" and "As long as you're happy," but I know these are all loving, careful ways to say "I don't care." And "I don't care" has always been our favorite lie, and the one we use the most. It's also the one we hate more than all the others because it's so frustratingly and eternally untrue. Our love is deeper than we ever intended it to be, and more permanent than we'd hoped. Unescapable, inevitable, we are stuck in love.
Stuck like flies in a trap or a web, we are unfortunate and unhealthy. Feet sticky with love, we distract ourselves from each other with people we could only appreciate because of the traits they have in common with me and with you. A girl with an easy smile and eager invitations...any girl really, sits next to you in the passenger seat of your car...A car that you and I have spent hours and hours in with the windows down and the radio up. So sweet, I'm sure, she is, and maybe determined to break the spell that we are both in. And maybe she will...with a flip of her hair, or a smile, or a kiss. But I doubt it.
A song might come on that I used to sing while I played with my hair and looked out your window. And you'd keep the beat with your hand on my leg and I'd look over and smile because you knew it drove me crazy. And at least for that moment, she would be helpless and invisible. I'd be there with you in your car, a ghost, and a tingle in your spine that you'd realize you don't feel in her kiss.