You tell me that my temper is unbearable and yet you fuel it, every day, pushing all the precise buttons just to see me teeter on the edge of my sanity. You tell me that my demands are extravagant, and yet nothing brings you more satisfaction knowing that you’ve exceeded them.
You hate when I suffer from boredom because it means you have to endure my tortuous curiosity. “Can you ‘stare off into space’ when you're in space?” “I think all that ear wax build up has caused you to be a bad listener. Let’s go flush it out with water.” “Do you think I look fat in these skinny jeans?”
You tell me I shouldn’t smile through my aggravation, that I’m spreading false hope and everyone deserves the truth. And yet, every night before you go to bed, I’m sure, you are concocting some plan for the next day to get on my last nerve.
Complain as you may, but I know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be, than to be with me.
No comments:
Post a Comment