The Rest of My Damn Life

I won't understand it. I can't. You and I are so very different. You have your boxes and I have my box. You have one of those Build-Your-Own six packs and I have my reserve bottle of scotch. I have to commit, I have to dedicate... I have. I'm not sure why you don't, I not sure why you can't just find a hill you're ready to die on if need be.

Why are there some who will go down with their ship and fight to the death, and some who triple check that they've packed the life boats and are always listening for that call to retreat? Is one better than the other? Is the sacrificial lover more noble than the survivalist? Is the runner more keen than the one who stays?


I've always thought there should be balance. I feel like you long for the balance. Like you want to stay on the damn ship, but you really also just want to live. You long for that which you hold dear to remain, to remain safe, to thrive -- you'd just rather protect yourself if things get hairy. Honestly, I really don't know which is more true, that it makes me more stupid or you more selfish. Maybe both. Maybe neither.


I just wish... I just wish you would talk to me. I wish you wouldn't hide that extra flask in your pocket and act like I can't smell it on your breath. I wish we could just talk about why you keep looking over your shoulder instead of being all in at the place you keep saying you want to be.

It's not about jealousy or being mad or any of that BS. It's about integrity. It's about intimacy. I want so badly to have real intimacy where we can tell each other anything without fear or regard to what the other one may say. That's what I try... And trust me babe, your skeletons ain't got nothin on mine. Aint.
Got.
Nothin.

So come on already and just talk to me. Lay it all out on the line, we've been here before and all that's changed is that I'm no longer invested in anyone but you.

And darling, don't fret...I don't even want a sip of your beer, I plan on nursing this scotch for the rest of my damn life.