Bad habits
December 30, 2009
I can tell we're fighting again by the way that you look at me. Out of the sides of your big eyes; bitter, resenting, and still needing. I told you I was done, you know. And I guess you took me about as seriously as I could expect you to.
Here's the thing, and don't tell anyone I told you: Your weakness makes me feel strong. Did you know that? Because I want to go crawling back to you as much as you do to me. I just don't want to go first. It's the opposite of courage, really. When it comes to strength, when it comes to determination; I've got a terrible hand. But I never have to put my cards on the table. I can count on you to fold, every time.
I guess it's never really been about the cards, anyway. It's all about the players. I watch those tears in the corners of your eyes. Tears of desperation, tears of betrayal, tears of fear and abandonment. Those cowardly, quivering little saline diamonds; beautifully shimmering sacrifices pleading with the universe to let you just have this. This last, pathetic scrap of comfort.
Let me tell you another secret: There's nothing magical about me. You want to know the trick to winning all the time?
Play with losers.
Tags for this piece: drugs alcohol anxiety habits addiction