i’ve wasted so much effort on you. telling you stories of worry and shivvers, reading letters aloud in flats of dandelions and begonias. sending you fur coated animals stuffed with toffee bars that you haughtily laughed at but never once thanked for. i passed to you relatively unsaid words, and you nodded and kissed me and later on that night complained about past and current love affairs. i told you it was okay, i told you i was jealous. you repeated the earlier actions, but this time we weren’t in your car, driving to grab the monthly pay check that you later spent on junk food and sex toys. this time, you were laying next to me; you were singing along to cheesy love songs and tucking my hair behind my ear and telling me i was worth everything. you fell asleep, and months went by of a slow digression into blessed ignorance and discomfort. eight months later, you barely touched me and you always kissed the neighbor when he came over at midnight. i’d watch shitty christmas movies, glancing in my peripherals every half hour or so to see you wobbling around in ecstasy with ‘the nightly guest’. the next morning, you would say you were innocent. you would say it was an accident. your junk ridden mouth expelled wastes of dead cellphones and rotten pasta. and i’d kiss it, and say it was okay. and even though i knew it was wrong, and i knew it was sad, i grabbed your hand and i shoved the bullshit straight back into your mouth so you could use it the next day. i kissed you again; i apologized.

but i won’t do this anymore. tomorrow, i think all i’ll give you is a fucking breath mint.