Underwhelmed

Truth be told I was hoping this would’ve lasted longer. I mean honestly, all that build up, all that anticipation for maybe - if I’m being exceedingly generous - fifteen minutes of action. What am I supposed to do now?

Not that you’re going to answer. You’ve never been very good at contributing to conversation. Just a couple of grunts and noises and the occasional “alright then” and you fall back into silence and stare off with your mind traipsing about through God-knows-where. You’re not even listening now.

Everyone says I’m shy. I guess that’s true. After all, I was so excited when you finally noticed me even though I was too afraid to make myself visible. I was so naive. You played the game until you secured me then showed me who you really are. You’re just an emotionally stunted child in an adult body, letting me take on all the responsibilities and decisions. You trapped me here. Do you know that? Of course you do. It’s what you wanted all along. Why grow up when you can manipulate someone else into doing it for you?

What’s the matter? Did I strike a nerve? Haven’t you got anything to say for yourself? I’m listening. No? No. Silly me to ever expect otherwise.

This is all your fault, you know. I had plans. I was going to build an amazing life, shy or not. I was going to chase my dreams and disappear to some gorgeous volcanic beach where the waves lapped the black sand and seabirds wheeled overhead. I can still see it when I close my eyes. I can smell the salt air. I can hear those laughing gulls.

But no! You come along with your charm and magnetism, and my god damned hormones make me forget I ever had a dream without you in it. I fell so hard for that ambush predator energy. I loved being chased, wanted. It was all such a well-constructed lie. I hate you for it.

You have everyone else fooled. They think you’re every bit the clever spirit that I saw when we first met. Ha! If only they knew how unbelievably droll and lazy you really are. Every damn question you bother to answer is a non-commitment.

“I don’t know.” “Whatever you want.” “It’s up to you.” God I wish that once - just once - you’d make up your own mind.

But it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?

I gave you everything and you kept taking more. I guess my exterior quiet fooled you as much as your public boisterousness fooled everyone else. I gave you so many chances. Even tonight - even this! You had a choice, dammit! It didn’t have to be this way!

If I’d been in your place - which we both know would never have happened, but, still - if I’d been in your place I would’ve asked for the hunting knife. The blade is sharper and it really is made for this work. But no. You couldn’t pick. You couldn’t even string three words together you blubbering coward.

So here we are. Your indecisive ass making a mess for me one last time while I’m stuck with the disappointment that this wasn’t as good as I imagined it would be. Just like everything else in our relationship, I suppose.

Now where is that reciprocating saw?