To be quite honest, I think I liked the situation better when we both knew that there was no question about whether or not she was coming over to live with you. Our relationship was stamped with an expiration date. I was quietly preparing myself for the end -- to meet her, to never again lie naked next to you in bed, to live in another strange city and be all alone, to see you at work and partake in meaningless conversation. At least then I knew what to expect.
Then, suddenly, you were in the hospital. A minor surgery, yes. But I was still worried about you. So I packed an overnight bag, took a few days off of work, skipped a class and drove the two and a half hours to the hospital. When you needed someone to keep you company, I was there. When you were at your worst, I took care of you. No one asked me to do this -- it was something I had wanted to do.
Apparently it meant a lot to you. Enough that you feel that you're at a fork in the road. You're uncertain which way to go. It makes me nervous. It gives me false hope.
Just shoot me and break my heart already. Get it over with and we'll each go our seperate ways.
I don't like this.
--s10