Express The Distress

joke

"If you didn't want me to go you've should've just fucking said so."

We're on one page one minute and another the next.

You tell me something. You tell me you would feel bad. Which made me believe that you feeling bad was the problem. It didn't occur to me that you were thinking something else. It's not like you said anything different. It's not like I can read your mind.

...

You invited me to stay with you for a couple of days. Of course, I accepted. Spending time with you is one of my favorite things to do. When you pulled up in your loud pickup truck to hall me back I was ecstatic. How could I not be?

When we got there everything was great. We talked. You teased. Tickled and then giggled. When nighttime came and you complained about being sleepy we went up to bed. You laid next to me, always the first to close the distance and pull me flush next to you. My head on your chest hearing the steady beat of your heart, my arm naturally falling onto your stomach, and our legs intertwined.

And to think you only gave me butterflies was absurd.

Everything was just great. It was you and me and me and you.

But good things don't last forever.

You talk and I listen. When it's my turn to speak, I tell you what I think from my perspective as anybody would. So when you answer me I believe we're feeling the same way or at least close to it. But then—then you tell me you'll think about it.

I let it go. There was no reason to let it bother me. We were good. We were fucking great. Nothing was going wrong. It was me and you. We communicated. That's what couples did. We joked and laughed. You opened the truck door for me every time we went out even though I thought it was unnecessary. But it still meant the world to me even though I didn't say it. Later we watched some movies and you continually yelled at the cat even though she was adorable and you knew it.

Again we went to sleep. Everything was fine.

Until the next morning. When you told me your answer. It wasn't your answer that upset me. It was the timing. You waited to tell me till the last minute. It was your feelings that you hadn't even thought to disclose until we were leaving.

If you felt that way why didn't you tell me?

It was fine that you felt that way. It was even fine that you told me. But it wasn't fine that you dumped it on me like a box of rocks. That you made me think differently when we spoke previously.

I didn't tell you that though. Just like you hadn't told me.

So when you asked me if I was okay and why I looked so sad, I said I was fine and nothing was bothering me. You actually had the audacity to ask me if I was okay.

Guess what. I wasn't okay. I wasn't fucking sad either. No sad wasn't the word. Okay wasn't the word. I was hurt. Hurt by you. Mad. So mad at you.

Boiling. Burning. Sizzling.

Aching. My head was spinning. Confusion rotating on its own individual axis. Leaving me in circles with no answer.

But it was fine. Everything was great. It was me and you and you and me. Nothing could go wrong. Right?

What a joke.