What’s the point?
What’s the point in trying to love someone who isn’t you? No one makes me feel like you did. No one kisses quite right. No one else’s pheromones attack my brain with such fierce intensity. I can’t help it, baby, it’s chemical. It’s primal, mammalian, reptilian, whatever. It’s right, with you. How could I want anyone else?
It’s been almost a year. Could you think about forgiving me yet?
And I know there’s absolutely nothing I can do to change your mind. But consider this: when you felt like everyone was abandoning you, I stayed. I was there. I sat with you and I didn’t give you too much shit when you spent that month hardly ever touching me because of whatever was going on in your head. When you thought everyone was leaving you, I stuck around and told you I wasn’t going anywhere, for what it was worth.
And now you’ve abandoned me. Not abandoned like a kitten or a baby or something that needs your care, not quite. Abandoned, yes, like a broke-down car. An unfinished meal. An erstwhile lover. I don’t think I’m too far out-of-line when I say I think that makes you a bit of a hypocrite.
Sure, Love, I can live without you. I’ve been doing it for a long time now. I just don’t want to, and I don’t think I should have to, and I’ll take what I can get if it means I get to see you. I can live without. But why? Stop being so fucking stubborn and love me already.