Wake Up, I'm Leaving
Matt waits until 11 a.m. to make himself a drink. To his credit it is four hours later than he wanted one. The guilt of day drinking turns comic by the blasting of Tool's "Sober" out of his speakers while his girlfriend is attempting to call a cab. Matt hopes the music is too loud, but only for a second, then he turns it down a tick. Gotta' keep it together until she's gone.
She does need to go, now, but don't burn the bridge. Give her a kiss, wish her luck, and leave the door open a crack just in case she changes her mind.
Matt has no clue what he'd say or do if she did change her mind. He's so angry, hurt and let down that he does not know if he will even want to take her back let alone give her a kiss goodbye. Knowing he cannot think about that right now, he dismisses it. He's running out of coolant and he has to keep it together.
But for how much longer? The seconds are like opiate withdrawal: hopeless, agonizing, interminable.
Why are you even doing yourself up? Thinking you might get fresh with the cab driver or the passenger next to you on the plane? Then he remembers a story he wrote about a guy who does just that, realizes he'd do the same thing, and feels his coolant valve slide closer to the red.
Matt thinks about how long it has been since he felt like this. His relationship was the one thing he never complained about. It was more or less perfect as relationships go. But today his lady was leaving, and he had to come to grips with that.
"If it doesn't work with her, I'm not sure I even want to find love," Matt said once. Love is a joke, if it even exists. The future will be a parade of harlots and Matt vows to take his anger out at the gym, preparing for the next bunny to hop into his bed.
It's just too painful to care about anything these days.
She does need to go, now, but don't burn the bridge. Give her a kiss, wish her luck, and leave the door open a crack just in case she changes her mind.
Matt has no clue what he'd say or do if she did change her mind. He's so angry, hurt and let down that he does not know if he will even want to take her back let alone give her a kiss goodbye. Knowing he cannot think about that right now, he dismisses it. He's running out of coolant and he has to keep it together.
But for how much longer? The seconds are like opiate withdrawal: hopeless, agonizing, interminable.
Why are you even doing yourself up? Thinking you might get fresh with the cab driver or the passenger next to you on the plane? Then he remembers a story he wrote about a guy who does just that, realizes he'd do the same thing, and feels his coolant valve slide closer to the red.
Matt thinks about how long it has been since he felt like this. His relationship was the one thing he never complained about. It was more or less perfect as relationships go. But today his lady was leaving, and he had to come to grips with that.
"If it doesn't work with her, I'm not sure I even want to find love," Matt said once. Love is a joke, if it even exists. The future will be a parade of harlots and Matt vows to take his anger out at the gym, preparing for the next bunny to hop into his bed.
It's just too painful to care about anything these days.