How dare you. How dare you ignore me for nearly 4 days, with little to no meaningful conversation before that, and out of nowhere, reach out asking a silly drunken question.
How Dare you.
As I read before bed, comfortably drunk in my sad state of affairs but finally content in my night alone yet again. Smoked a nightcap cigarette and now reading in bed. I look over and there you are, on the screen out of nowhere. I was about done worrying about the whole ordeal and comfortably putting myself to sleep. But there you are, gaining my interest again, out of nowhere.
It's 10:30 and I'm in early and there you are, apologizing even! You had me going for a moment. Easily forgivable, it seems you have that talent, one of your few I imagine. You immediately ask me if you can ask a silly question. I agree, now realizing this might be what seals my fate. You're most likely sitting with friends at a bar, or drunk at home having already written me off, but cannot sleep.
You ask me about a bracelet I wear and why I wear it from somebody I once knew. It clearly offends you. I explain with transparency. It was a lifetime ago. You don't accept this. Why in the world would I wear something from someone I no longer know. Clearly, you're projecting dear.
Then you had the gall to let me further explain, and fall asleep, or ignore me once again. You selfish prick. How dare you get my heart rate up over some trite point. I've got some bad news honey, if a bracelet bothers you? You've got bigger problems, with me especially. There's so much more low-hanging fruit you could've gone for. You'd be in hell with me babe. I wrote a book serializing my non-existent encounters with women, partly made up, partly embellished for affect. Anyone who reads it, along with my other book and my music would run in any direction. They don't know me however nor care to. It's not all of me.
Speaking of Egypt, let me confess. You never saw the inside of my room, so right there, you'd be turned off. I've got another silver bracelet I bought in Egypt. There are Egyptian towels on my double doors. I have a pack of cigarettes sitting on my nightstand. Guitars everywhere. I have a train blanket covering one wall, and dark accented sheets serving as accents among other spare wall space and the ceiling unfinished. I have signed pictures of famous folks, posters and paintings on the wall, albums, a stereo, memorabilia and drum heads on the walls. You'd be stricken with regret stepping in there love.
I can't believe I cleaned for you. I can't believe I hid my ashtray on the porch and those cigarette because you told me smoking was a deal breaker for you. I don't smoke enough to care and I was willing to put my best foot forward for your arrival. I vacuumed, did all the laundry, dusted, sorted, shaved, and even cleaned the bathroom. I was a gentleman through and through as this gorgeous person was over. We had a great time. We laughed and even cried a bit.
How dare you. You sat next to me on my own couch and asked about it. I answered you. You got a white-ink tattoo of a heart on your wrist I asked about, you answered. You lied on my couch as I massaged your legs and I kissed you when you left and requested an honest transparent answer whether we'd meet again. You said yes. How dare you.
You've got pictures of your boyfriend of 7 years on display still, but I didn't bother pointing it out (here I am though). It's been a struggle and constant trudge of one-way conversations. You don't know anything about me. Not because I'm an elusive person, but honey, because you never bothered asking. As it stands and as I've discovered, you couldn't handle the truth anyway.
If a bracelet I received as a small token 4 years ago, from someone I haven't spoken to in 3 years bothers you? We're not meant to be.
How dare you interrupt my Bukowski.