You've Got Mail

The almost new love of my life
has sent me a message. It's not good.
The dear steve message is never a
pleasant read. It usually follows
the pattern of her telling me everything
I've ever done wrong, pointing out
my many flaws, my impossible stubborness
to change, my frozen heart, and
irrepressible sarcasm. Unavailable
and smartass are often two words found
somewhere in the hastily written, and
often angry text. But it's okay.
And in it being okay, this also seems
to be a problem. They want me to suffer,
to shed some tears, lose weight, to somehow
feel he pain and heartache that normally
goes along with losing the almost next
love of my ife. But no. I got nothing.
It's a hard thing adding another grown
person into the mix. I can do a few
nights, perhaps a saturday, or a sunday
once in a while, but I can't do the
whole week. I need some down time.
Some Steve time. I need to look around
the room sometimes and be the only
person there. Just as I like an
ice cold glass of water when I'm
thirsty, I can't drink it all day.