Aren't we getting too old for this? Or will you never grow up? I'm ready for something else. You're exhausting.
I'm frustrated with your half-assed, half-hearted attempts to meet me halfway. I've filled years with frantic, fumbling formulations of feeble excuses and I'm finally finished.
(This is so easy to decide when you're not paying attention to me. I can declare it boldly to anyone who will listen, announce it for audiences abound. The instant you come back my resolve evaporates. I forget every single reason you're bad for me. And there are so many reasons. Forgetting those reasons is gradually becoming a struggle. They used to vanish effortlessly and now I fight to stifle them, to hide them beneath the giddiness. Burying my reservations is becoming a burden.)
Are we going to figure this out while it's still worth it?
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