It would seem that we have arrived at an impasse. Us, you and me,

stuttering along through this thing that we are meant to call “us” but

somehow feels more like a you and a me and some sticky tape that is

pulling at our skin uncomfortably. We have been re-glued so many times,

the area has become calloused, and frankly neither of us really took the

time to fix it before deciding we should put ourselves together again. That

was how I saw it anyway, that night, when he came over, cold and tired

and crying and begging for someone to love him. We fused back together

that day, fused back together in the most haphazard sense, in the most

reckless sense, not checking to see if the wounds underneath had healed

because of course they did not; we are a generation of impatience. I think

back to that night now, that moment when I saw you cry. It was the first

time I had every seen you express any real emotion towards me, any real

feeling of regret, and I must admit I was drunk on it. The power was all

consuming, the fact that in this one moment you were putty in my hands

was just too much to resist. You came through the front door almost

violently, if there is a way to be violent and almost utterly defeated at the

same time. I knew exactly what I was doing, I knew I did not love you, I

knew that I was going to regret the decision, but I made it anyway. Hoping

that eventually you would just know this is what I was thinking, that these

were the things I was begging to say. But you can’t tell, and I won’t say it,

so we hold cold hands and press on.

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