I hate drunk men. It's not going to make me like you more. In fact right now it's going to make me like you less. Maybe even begin to resent you, hate you, but certainly not want to have sex with you. Why would you ever think otherwise?
So what if I'd only been asleep for an hour before you called? So what that I was drunk that night too? I didn't hear the phone vibrate, I didn't wake. I didn't drunk text you either. Maybe there's something in that that you and I both need to face. I don't miss you. I don't even think of you when I should be thinking of something else.
It's a sobering thought.
I'd already made my decision. Already decided that this train is no longer accepting passengers. All the new ones should just dutifully exit all carriages now please. Next stop Seattle.
I feel bad, for thinking, for feeling the way I do. But I don't ever want to be like him. I don't ever want to make you feel that way. And it's a shame. You're so perfect in every other way. Maybe if I'd met you a year in the future, we'd be on the same page. Talk about a bad cliche - wrong time, wrong place. I wonder if you'd let me in, if I'd still be thinking the same. I hope so, for only the part of me that would allow me to crush our souls if I allowed things to continue.
I only wish I could tell you. My biggest failure. Ironic given my oath, this vow of honesty I bestowed upon myself long ago.
As if right on cue, thunder clouds pour rain apon me.
