When she's upset like this, she always goes for a ride.
It's usually the fact that heavy metal can break all of her thoughts and woes into little crumbles of what used to be. Or maybe it's because when she's not at war she needs the wind running through her hair.
But you already knew that, didn't you.
Or maybe she didn't tell you because she figured you wouldn't understand. I hope she didn't tell you. Maybe then I can believe that she would choose me over you in a heartbeat.
But it's never been a decision, has it. You always came through to her in a way that I never could. Talk about being friend zoned.
I still wish it was a decision, though.
I know, I'm a selfish little bitch for wanting my only love to be torn between two people. But maybe, just maybe if you didn't come into the picture for just a few more days… Maybe she would have hesitated. Because that's all I have to ponder, in the end. Just like how you just led her into chasing stars in her little red Corvette. The hood's down, and I know that for a fact. She might already be over Arizona's border by now, speeding to Santa Fe. The silence of the desert never really bothered her the way it bothers you. You can't help but wish that there were the voices of a never-ending party surrounding you at all times, because when you're away from celebration, you're a mess. It's just a phase, you pleaded with her. I'll get over it. She waited for you to change.
And you just laughed.
It's not the parties, she whispered. It's what I'm afraid you'll do after the parties. Get a little drunk. Notice that dark-haired woman in the corner. And…
You frowned a bit at this. How could she even think that, after all the trouble you've gone through to catch the little bitch. I'm not fucking anyone else, if that's what you mean, you reply with stone cold eyes. Her eyes sparkle. Like diamonds, your mind whispers, twinkling violet diamonds… You shove the thought away as she turns and runs. You probably just stand there, because you know you can't catch a woman designed for war.
Well, that's one thing we have in common. We both can't catch her.
I wish she would turn around and head towards the bar. Everyone knows I'll be at the bar because I'm absolutely pathetic. Another day, another round of alcohol to wash away her face. And it doesn't even work. But I'm not going to even attempt to return this product, because, believe it or not, it seems to give me insight. It shows me what I should do. But maybe I'm just saying that because I've already downed two cups and a half.
You're on the way to a party, I bet. In the same way I head to the bar. To escape, to think, to drown. Yes, I would love to drown in what I love best – a good 'ol bottle of Jack Daniels. That shit makes me fight, though, so I don't. It's the least I can do for her.
I sound like a lovesick puppy, obeying every command. But puppies wouldn't wish for their masters' other puppies to die, would they? Because that's the solid truth in this story. I want you to die. Crash and burn. But that wouldn't help me in the least, now would it. She'd just run a little further out of reach.
She always seems to run, but I s'pose that's just because I'm slow.