She says.

She Says.

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.