The Gift
I have this gift. That I bought for someone quite sometime ago. A month or two. The kind of gift that would certainly get the response "I told you not to do this." Secretly that means "I really wish you hadn't of done that." But very very secretly it means "Dammit, that was thoughtful. How annoying."
But I can't give it. I've just been staring at it. I just don't know what to do with it. But I just can't give it. It is abundantly clear that I cannot give it.
So, tomorrow, today, I'm going to take it back. Walk shamefully up to the counter and ask them to refund my money. Give them some story about how it's not quite right. Not what I expected. And when they are satisfied, I will go, money in hand.
And then I will just stare at the money. Remembering what it once was and how I saved myself from being hurt, once again, by giving.
But I can't give it. I've just been staring at it. I just don't know what to do with it. But I just can't give it. It is abundantly clear that I cannot give it.
So, tomorrow, today, I'm going to take it back. Walk shamefully up to the counter and ask them to refund my money. Give them some story about how it's not quite right. Not what I expected. And when they are satisfied, I will go, money in hand.
And then I will just stare at the money. Remembering what it once was and how I saved myself from being hurt, once again, by giving.