"I love you." She said.
She always said that. She said it so much that it made me cringe. It was like pouring too much syrup on your waffles. The sweet taste in small quantities was satisfying, and one slip of the hand and you can have a problem. Not enough waffle to fill your stomach, an abundance of sweet enough to make your stomach ache. Her love was like waffles drowning in syrup. I was the waffle. She was the syrup. I was weakened by her saturation of dramatic exits and appearances in my life.
"I really do love you." She said. She was waiting for me to say something. I had reached the point where no answer was the right one unless it was what she wanted to hear. Silence. I had nothing to say. I wasn't going to do what she wanted me to do. I was going to do what I wanted to do for a change.
"I guess I should stop loving you then." She was still prodding. Or was she toying with me? She was sopping up some of the syrup and threatening to toss the waffle away. I was going to be replaced if I didn't satisfy her right now at this moment. I still said nothing. I wanted her to throw me away. I wanted to be free. I decided to maintain my silence. I said nothing. Instead I reclined in my chair and stared into the face I once enjoyed seeing and now felt as if it were only a mask covering a twisted soul riddled with insecurity and wickedness.
"You love me, huh?" I said nonchalantly. I wasn't sure if I gave a damn.
"You know I love you." More syrup.
"You didn't love me anymore last week." This too came casually, like a random leaf passing your face with wind.
"I didn't mean it." She smiled.
Wickedness. To cause me such pain only to say it was for nothing... wicked.
"I heard it." I sighed.
"It wasn't real. I was just angry with you." She said this as if I were being childish. Perhaps she thought I was foolish to even entertain the notion of her not loving me. I always thought that you should believe what people tell you...unless they prove themselves to be liars.
"You know I love you." She went back to her home. Home was a place where she loved me, and I loved her and we dined on waffles with way too much syrup.
I sat still and looked at her. I loved her. I loved her in a way that was new to me. But I hated her in a way that had come far too familiar to me. I fixed my gaze on her until she spoke. Her words disrupted my thoughts.
"Don't you love me?" She said. More wickedness. Love solves nothing and complicates everything.
"Yes." I replied, defeated. Drowning in syrup.
"Say you love me." Now I must cower to the the emotion that has held me hostage. Now I must profess the very feeling I regret being consumed with and bound to. I must make her feel good again because she feels guilty about making me feel bad. I must forgive her because she didn't mean it. I must feign resilience when I am ridgid with resentment. Wicked Woman.
"I love you." I smiled. It was humorous. I did love her and I had no explanation for it. It simply was the truth, and I've never been a liar. I was a fool however, for loving one.
She smiled. She was happy that we were back home, dining on waffles smothered in syrup. I however, was far away from that place. I was more like a random leaf, that blows casually
past your face along with the wind.
She always said that. She said it so much that it made me cringe. It was like pouring too much syrup on your waffles. The sweet taste in small quantities was satisfying, and one slip of the hand and you can have a problem. Not enough waffle to fill your stomach, an abundance of sweet enough to make your stomach ache. Her love was like waffles drowning in syrup. I was the waffle. She was the syrup. I was weakened by her saturation of dramatic exits and appearances in my life.
"I really do love you." She said. She was waiting for me to say something. I had reached the point where no answer was the right one unless it was what she wanted to hear. Silence. I had nothing to say. I wasn't going to do what she wanted me to do. I was going to do what I wanted to do for a change.
"I guess I should stop loving you then." She was still prodding. Or was she toying with me? She was sopping up some of the syrup and threatening to toss the waffle away. I was going to be replaced if I didn't satisfy her right now at this moment. I still said nothing. I wanted her to throw me away. I wanted to be free. I decided to maintain my silence. I said nothing. Instead I reclined in my chair and stared into the face I once enjoyed seeing and now felt as if it were only a mask covering a twisted soul riddled with insecurity and wickedness.
"You love me, huh?" I said nonchalantly. I wasn't sure if I gave a damn.
"You know I love you." More syrup.
"You didn't love me anymore last week." This too came casually, like a random leaf passing your face with wind.
"I didn't mean it." She smiled.
Wickedness. To cause me such pain only to say it was for nothing... wicked.
"I heard it." I sighed.
"It wasn't real. I was just angry with you." She said this as if I were being childish. Perhaps she thought I was foolish to even entertain the notion of her not loving me. I always thought that you should believe what people tell you...unless they prove themselves to be liars.
"You know I love you." She went back to her home. Home was a place where she loved me, and I loved her and we dined on waffles with way too much syrup.
I sat still and looked at her. I loved her. I loved her in a way that was new to me. But I hated her in a way that had come far too familiar to me. I fixed my gaze on her until she spoke. Her words disrupted my thoughts. "Don't you love me?" She said. More wickedness. Love solves nothing and complicates everything.
"Yes." I replied, defeated. Drowning in syrup.
"Say you love me." Now I must cower to the the emotion that has held me hostage. Now I must profess the very feeling I regret being consumed with and bound to. I must make her feel good again because she feels guilty about making me feel bad. I must forgive her because she didn't mean it. I must feign resilience when I am ridgid with resentment. Wicked Woman.
"I love you." I smiled. It was humorous. I did love her and I had no explanation for it. It simply was the truth, and I've never been a liar. I was a fool however, for loving one.
She smiled. She was happy that we were back home, dining on waffles smothered in syrup. I however, was far away from that place. I was more like a random leaf, that blows casually
past your face along with the wind.
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