I find it fascinating how you open up so easily to me, how you tell me the stupidest stuff. All that your girlfriend should know. But does she, really? I doubt it.
I know everything about you.
Your favorite flower is the rose. The reason it's the rose is because your favorite book is The Dark Tower by Stephen King. Stephen King's your favorite author also, because you've read as many of his books as you can swallow--including Lisey's Story, where you came up with my nickname of Babyluv....not real creative, but sweet....fucker.....I also know your favorite color is green. I know you adore The Andromeda Strain, but can't find a copy you can buy, much less rent. I can't name your all-time favorite song, but I know three of your top bands are Dream Theater, Tool and Coheed & Cambria. I know that you really want a tattoo, and when you do get one it's going to be a rose. I know you're a closet nerd, because you love to play videogames as much as you love to go outside and have adventures. I know you love soccer, but gave it up for wrestling. Why you did that is beyond me, because frankly you suck at it. Yeah, I get the whole friends thing, which is why I also know you're a clingy little bastard.
I know you adore science, and want to go into the science profession when you go to college. I also know how practical you think, because you say if you can get instate tuition in Utah you'll stay there for school--'cause it's the affordable, practical thing to do. The practical approach, however, is the reason you broke up with me. It's the reason you should beak up with my cousin. But you don't always think practically, either. Which is why knowing you is so fucking confusing.
You've told me about you pushing all the sand in the sandbox to one side when you were little. You've told me about living in Rochester and your friend Chris, who was a really cool kid when I met him. And you've told me some pretty stupid stuff, including the atheist club you thought about starting with a friend--in which you would go around crashing churches to spread the atheist word. God, that should've been the breaking point, the one where I walked out, rather than you dumping my ass twice. But that was my mistake....
I also know that your dad was from Pennsylvania, which is why you always cheer for the Eagles and other sports teams from the area. You're not necessarily a football fan, though; you prefer soccer, the sport you were so damn good in....the sport your dad coached....you're a huge Manchester United fan, but you have a small soft spot for Brazil, because you've got the country flag hanging in your room. The room where we spent one night texting for two hours, talking about your new bed that squeaked....fuck, I hate those memories. The good memories. And no, I haven't deleted those texts from my phone yet either....
And most recently, you admitted that when you retire, you want to sail. "Sail, sail, sail." Sailing in Minnesota.
I know EVERYTHING about you.
And because I know everything about you, I feel comfortable stating that you don't really love my cousin. You date her because you can't stand being alone. And you don't want to get too close to her, because you'll be moving. She's a cheap thrill, a quick fix. But a quick fix won't ever get you well.
Yet you know so very little about me. I can bring up the name Zeke, and you'd have no clue who or what I was talking about.
You're such a coward. A needy, clingy coward whose only defense is running away. Or, as you call it, "refusing" to fight. But there's no covering the wolf in sheep's clothing, is there.
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