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Flickring
I'm a systematically disappointing spin-off of the best friend you'll ever have and the worst enemy you'll ever make. I hate the third month of the year, I love Betty White, I fear old age, I'm a decent writer, an okay pianist, a terrible jack-in-the-box of puns and tear jerking one liners, and I can't dance.
I make every error of human reasoning, I don't break promises, I'm not a solipsist, I can't waste time, I'm a hypocrite, & a flirtatious cornucopia of cliche causes and ironic effects. My heart and my head are the same like in shrimp, and I'm begging just begging to get my heart broken by the next Byronic hero that walks by.
Give me a polar bear, and I'll give you my soul-which is nothing but a blissful reminder of why you miss childhood, and a spinning vortex of stinging insecurities and paralyzing self-doubt.
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Irony?
Secretly, I just don’t want to be in school anymore so I can live in a one bedroom with my boyfriend and we can whisper “I love you” to each other every moment we’re not at work, and I can play him the ukelele and he’ll appreciate it because in a fantasy world he appreciates that kind of stuff.
And we’ll watch cartoons and he’ll feed me Cheese-Its and I’ll enjoy them because I’ll have finally learned to forgive the past.
And we’ll have a king sized bed, and I’ll learn the cello, and he’ll work nights and come back freezing with a red nose. And I’ll tell him he’s keeping me from my dreams, and he’ll tell me to leave him, and I’ll cry and resist texting other guys while he mopes around with his shitty little pout face.
And he’ll leave the shower curtain open and put the toilet paper on backwards, and I’ll play the music too loud, and never cook dinner.
I’ll try to fight back the urge to smoke hookah while he dreams of tattoos he can never have while he’s with me. And he loves me because he doesn’t understand me. And I love him because he loves me and that’s good enough, right?
And I’ll feel like we’re only in this now because we’ve signed a lease, and I’ll pretend I’m trapped in a 1940’s movie about real love, waiting for James Stewart to come save me. When the lease is up, we’ll sign it again because we don’t want to admit that losing the king sized bed will be a complete and total loss when really it’s the fact that neither of us wants to sleep in it alone, like being on a canoe in the ocean. And I’ll never know if I truly do love him or if it’s just something that just feels right when you say it, like when you adopt a puppy or pick out a Christmas tree.
He’ll want to adopt a puppy. But I’m not a dog person.
Maybe I’ll get bored of being thornless or he’ll get sick of the way I settle like dust on a mantle that holds cheap candles that we never light and pictures of us that I forced him to take.
And then one day he’ll break my heart and it will be the best feeling in the world because it’ll prove once and for all that I actually have one.
Secretly.
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