Past, Present, and Future Tense
Before this is all over, you said, before this is all over you’re going to realize that the world doesn’t revolve solely around your pretentious, fucked-up ass, that people’s feelings don’t exist and disappear when it’s convenient for you to care. And once that happens, and this is where you were already in the doorway, arms crossed, prepared to make your final, defining statement, the last thing you’d ever say to me, the thing you’d been waiting to say to me throughout the hour long argument that preceded this point, your point, our point of no return, when you’d lay it all out in one succinct statement, cutting straight to the marrow, slicing through the heart of our years long relationship like some hardened samurai delivering the final blow, the death blow, without remorse or hesitation, because you couldn’t hesitate, because you, we, have been hesitating for the last five years and hesitation meant close to fuck-all at this point, at least for you, so you stood there in the doorway, unequivocally, more certain about this than anything before, certain that this was what had to be done, prepared to walk out and on forever, away from me, away from us, away from the past, the first two years that were the definition of true love, from the middle years where it started to blur, the puzzle with its missing pieces, something that could never be completed, but yet, for some reason, trying to finish, trying to complete what would never be truly whole, those years when hesitation was the dominant force, when being comfortable was more important than taking a chance, when fear governed life, those years you swore you could erase if you had the chance, the years that helped to make us the people we were, for better or for worse, and then the now where you’re standing with pretzeled arms, speaking with an intensity that shook the boughs of the tree we created, that was now swiftly being uprooted, faster with every passing second, waiting for the final push, your push, your words against the massive trunk, increasingly weak under the pressure of what was surely coming next, as you spoke, and once that happens, and you pause, because maybe the pause for dramatic effect as they say, will aid in burying the sting of your words deep within what you hope is still a heart, my heart, because you care, even still, even after all this, after all the fuck-ups, the broken hearts, the sleepless nights, the pointless tears, the absurd fights, the sleepovers, the hugs, the kisses, the long drives, the family events, being together, being alone, wishing it would stay like this until the sun and the stars finally faded into the black of existence, because you always cared, more than I ever could realize, and as you hold back the tears I’d come to know unbearably too well, you say, once that happens you’ll realize that I always cared, cared so goddamn much, because I loved you but you could never see past your own self-absorbed agenda, and that’s when you’ll see that you’ll always be alone because no one wants to love someone who’s to childish to know how to love them back. She’s right, you think, as she turns, walks, down the steps, to the car, and drives into your past.
