She says that I’m not ready for what she has to offer. That I seem unconcerned with her wants and desire. Her feelings.
She says that I don’t seem interested in her thoughts or issues. She says I’m nonchalant.
She says that other women know what’s expected I don’t. She says I don’t care.
She says that she needs someone who makes her feel wanted. She says I’m an asshole.
I say, “You may be right.”
I light my smoke. I don’t look at her even though I know she’s waiting.
My mind takes me to another place and I pretend to smile.
I walk over to the window and look out into the distance.
She’s boring holes into my back with her angry eyes.
I flick the ember into the night and turn to face her.
I say, “I’m sure that in all of your relationships you’ve had to argue. It’s evident. Obvious that the only way you can make your point is to tell me how fucked up I am…and that’s cool. I understand. All that must’ve been hard on you. But understand this:
I care but I won’t argue with you.
I may not be ready but you haven’t really given me a chance.
Your baggage is weighing you down and I won’t let you take me with you.
I’m interested but not in being your enemy. I’m here to be your lover.
I may be an asshole but I love you.
I’m realistic. Every relationship outside of family is a choice and we chose to be together, you and I.
I turn away and go to the window. I feel her arms around my waist as we stare off into the distance, together.