These are some rather angsty Joanne drabbles that came into being after a much-less-than-brilliant day at school. I know this isn't my best, I think I was channeling some unresolved friendship issues and uncertainties into it. Ah, the beauty of writing.
Sometimes Joanne wondered why she loved her.
Sometimes she wondered if Maureen ever really loved her back.
More than Maureen loved herself, that is.
Sometimes, when Maureen was being selfish and shallow and cruel, even if it wasn't directed at her, Joanne wondered if her girlfriend could possibly mean what she said.
What if she did?
Joanne had always operated under the idea that there was more to Maureen than meets the eye.
And sometimes, there seemed to be.
When she decided to act like it, that is.
But then what to do about the times when there didn't seem to be anything else?
The times when Maureen was snobbish and conceited, thickheaded and coldhearted and so stubborn it sometimes made Joanne cry angry, frustrated tears because Maureen refused to even try to change?
Did that mean Maureen didn't care?
That Joanne wasn't as important to her as she'd always claimed?
Joanne had tried. They had had heart-to-heart conversations. Joanne had written her letters. She had done her very best to hang on to this girl she loved so much, to pour out her feelings and make Maureen understand them.
She wanted to be an adult about this. She wanted to work out the problems together and fix them.
Whenever this happened, once they were past all of the anger and frustration, Maureen would always cry, promising to change for her.
Promising to make it better, to put her own fair share of effort into this tumultuous relationship.
Then why didn't that change ever happen?
Because, Joanne told herself, she's convinced by now that no matter what happens, I'll always come back.
But someday I won't.
Right?
That had yet to happen.
Joanne was so sick of being taken for granted. She was sick of this endless cycle, this downward tango, that she was trapped in.
She was sick of having to patch up Maureen's mistakes, she was sick of having to word things so carefully that they almost sidestepped the truth just to avoid a fight because Maureen would misinterpret her every word.
How could Maureen, who could be so sweet and gentle and loving, have such a capacity for coldness, sometimes brutality?
Joanne sighed and began to pen another letter.
Sometimes, she wondered why she loved her.