Maybe this time
N is for Not perfect, but I'll keep trying-Alex (mentions of Alex/Izzie, Alex/Lexie, Alex/Ava)-PG
He liked to pretend he didn’t care he was such a screw up.
He liked to pretend he didn’t care about a lot of things.
He claimed to tell the truth, which was a joke, because he couldn’t even face the truth.
His life was one long string of mistakes that he couldn’t stop making.
Sometimes he liked to pretend he didn’t care. That he wasn’t trying to be anything more than he was.
Pretending used to be easier.
He blamed her. And he wasn’t even sure entirely which her, just that Jimmy Buffet had been right.
There was a woman to blame.
Maybe his mother.
Maybe his wife. Ex-wife.
One of his annoying female friends.
The woman who lost her identity, got it back, and lost her mind.
The one who sat by his bedside and clutched his hand.
Maybe it was all of them.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe he’d never be more than this.
Maybe he’d never be enough.
Maybe it didn’t even matter that he was trying.
Maybe that’s all that mattered.
He wasn’t the guy he’d been when he fought back against his father.
He wasn’t the same guy who came to Seattle.
Or slept with Olivia.
Or gave half the hospital syphilis.
He was more than that, more than he used to be.
He’d been a husband, even if it hadn’t worked out. He even thought he’d been a pretty good one for awhile.
Maybe he’d try it again someday.
Maybe he’d get it right this time.
Maybe he’d be worthy of bedside vigils.
And friends who stuck by him even when they shouldn’t.
Maybe he didn’t have to be perfect.
Maybe he could just be.
He liked to pretend he didn’t care he was such a screw up.
He liked to pretend he didn’t care about a lot of things.
He claimed to tell the truth, which was a joke, because he couldn’t even face the truth.
His life was one long string of mistakes that he couldn’t stop making.
Sometimes he liked to pretend he didn’t care. That he wasn’t trying to be anything more than he was.
Pretending used to be easier.
He blamed her. And he wasn’t even sure entirely which her, just that Jimmy Buffet had been right.
There was a woman to blame.
Maybe his mother.
Maybe his wife. Ex-wife.
One of his annoying female friends.
The woman who lost her identity, got it back, and lost her mind.
The one who sat by his bedside and clutched his hand.
Maybe it was all of them.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe he’d never be more than this.
Maybe he’d never be enough.
Maybe it didn’t even matter that he was trying.
Maybe that’s all that mattered.
He wasn’t the guy he’d been when he fought back against his father.
He wasn’t the same guy who came to Seattle.
Or slept with Olivia.
Or gave half the hospital syphilis.
He was more than that, more than he used to be.
He’d been a husband, even if it hadn’t worked out. He even thought he’d been a pretty good one for awhile.
Maybe he’d try it again someday.
Maybe he’d get it right this time.
Maybe he’d be worthy of bedside vigils.
And friends who stuck by him even when they shouldn’t.
Maybe he didn’t have to be perfect.
Maybe he could just be.