Her: "No. Asshole would be saying it nicely. You surpassed being an asshole."
I’m an asshole, or so she tells me. Actually she says I surpassed being an asshole. So that would make me…? I’m not sure what is below an asshole. Is there a lower level? If so, that is where I rank. I imagine it is probably somewhere around scum of the earth. Open up a dictionary, look for the word “asshole” and there you will find my smiling face. Yes, apparently I am officially defined as an asshole, but I won’t let it define me. I try to make light of it and tell myself I’m not an asshole. I’m just a big fat stupid poop head. The name calling doesn’t hurt me, but it’s the source from which the insult comes that pains me. It is because I hold her in such high regard and admire her on so many different levels, that it hurts to know she doesn’t feel the same towards me…or at least doesn’t anymore.
If I willingly call myself out for being an asshole, shouldn’t my punishment be lessened? It’s like a criminal that admits to committing a crime, the judge then goes easy on him, reducing the sentence. So I confessed. I admitted that I was in the wrong and labeled myself to declare my asshole-ish behavior BEFORE she had a chance to call me on it. So shouldn’t she be a little more forgiving? A little more lenient? Or maybe even say “you’re not an asshole, but right now you’re acting like one.” Instead she not only agrees in thinking I’m an asshole, but implies that asshole should be seen as a compliment to me because I’m far worse than just an asshole. I quote: “Asshole would be saying it nicely.” Oh how she warms my heart. Flutter.
Obviously, it’s not a flutter. It’s more of a knife twisting sensation, but maybe I deserve the cuts. They say there is a very thin line between love and hate. My stomach is feeling very nauseous, an emotional symptom found in both love and hate. I don’t think it’s love though and I’m sure it’s not hate. I don’t think I posses the ability to hate such a sweet creature. But that sick uneasy feeling continues to reside in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it’s just the crunchy tacos I ate? After all, I’m an asshole, I should be an expert on nausea and how to expel it from the body! I’m sure with time, the nauseous feeling will past. Although one thing will certainly reside with me forever, her last words…
“It makes me sad that, of all of the thousands of extremely sweet things over the past year that you have said and done, this is what I'll remember most. And having feelings for you...well, tonight it sucks having them more than ever.”
Now that right there, that makes me want to throw-up. It’s not only ending things on a bad note that leaves a retched taste in my mouth, but it’s knowing that loving me causes more pain than joy in another’s heart. Wow. Loving me causes more pain than joy in another’s heart. It’s hard to see it written out like that. It feels more real now.
Kindly stated, I am an asshole.
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