on something unexpected

It's not hard to fall, and I don't wanna lose, it's not hard to grow, when you know that you just don't know. -Damien Rice (Cannonball)

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The sudden downpour all around me is amazing-

I can't help but reach out my arm, letting the cold droplets splash across my skin, an eerie glow from the porchlight illuminating the pecuilar gesture.

But an arm is not enough,

and I rush out into the storm, standing in the grass, twirling as I become soaked to the bone in only a matter of seconds.

One false twirl, and I fall to the ground, my flipflops flying off landing in the grass around me.

You rush out to me-

Are you okay?

I laugh, peering up at you as I lay on the ground, the rain splattering my face, you looking so incredibly uncomfortable.

You put out a hand to help me up,

and I take it but not with the same intent.

Lay down with me.

You're crazy,

you tell me, refusing, trying to get me to stand.

I begrudgingly get up, and allow you to lead me back to the dry porch, the orange glow, and another familiar face.

I sit down on the ledge again, my hand absently finding its way out towards the cool air, the wet sky.

You shake your head at me-

You're drunk.

I turn, looking you right in the eyes.

So are you.

Which is why we should both just go inside.

Your voice is stubborn; your eyes pointedly avoid my piercing gaze.

I think I like it out here, better.

I stand again, slipping past your half hearted attempt to grab my arm, and once again am in the yard, standing, letting the rain refresh me just a little more.

Come here.

You shake your head, and my hands rest on my hips.

Well, I'm not coming to you. So I guess i'll just stay out here.

Don't be dumb- you're shivering. Just come back to the porch and we can talk.

Something in the overly logical tone of your voice sends me over the edge, and I do head back to the porch, but with different intentions.

Fine. I'll find someone else to dance with me.

You block my entrance, and I sit down stubbornly on the ledge again.

What do you want?

I play with hands in my lap, not looking up at you, forcing you to answer your own question.

Look, I can't do this.

Why not?

I peer up from behind the wet locks of hair in my face, to see your pained expression.

You're gorgeous- but you're drunk.

I only let the first part of your sudden truth sink in, as a faint smile plays on my lips.

You think i'm gorgeous?

Shut up. You know everyone says I follow you around like a lost puppy dog. But i'm not taking advantage of you. You're not thinking clearly.

Neither are you,

I retort, stung.

This is me. Throwing myself at you. What are you going to do about it? Just stand there?

You seem surprised by my bluntness- your voice temporarily lost. I take advantage of the moment to once again engage you-

Why didn't you stay in the rain with me?

You sigh, running your hand across your head, clearly aggitated.

I can't. Please. You're not thinking about this- I would have loved to stay out there with you. But I don't want to be just some one night stand.

I rise then, brushing past you as I walk inside.

Then don't be.

on wasting time

For one split second she almost turned around, but that would be like pouring rain drops back into a cloud, so she took another step and said, I see the way out, and i'm gonna take it. - Carrie Underwood (Wasted)
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It hits me while I sit there, counting my money, wondering where he is.

Does he even care about me?

I'm his replacement for a girlfriend at work without the perks.

I do all the work, he comes over, smiles, and everything is okay again.

Not this time.

I feel the hands on my shoulders before he speaks-

Good job tonight.

We're not talking.

I say the words with a bit of spite, and wonder if it's because i'm really all that terribly angry or because another girl is not far away clearly listening, and I don't want to be considered weak.

I'm sorry you got done so early-

He doesn't sound sorry, and even though the back massage feels nice, I don't cave to turn and look at his face.

I'm sorry you have such a hard time talking to people.

I let the words pour out and I stand up, brushing past him, avoiding looking him in the eyes.

He doesn't follow,

and that's what bugs me the most.

It isn't that I'm mad he didn't help-

I'm mad he doesn't care enough to talk to me when i'm upset with him, twisted logic.

But it's mine.

I wait- and to no avail.

That's when I get it: I'm nothing to him.

It hurts, and I try to consider if I think it's true.

I decide to make peace, and when we're about to leave, I ask him-

should I go out tonight?

He doesn't even turn to look at me-

I'm sure you will.

The doubt melts away and is replaced with anger, as I give him a critical eye.

What's that supposed to mean?

He shrugs,

just that you'll probably go out.

He holds the door open for me, and I flounce past him, hurrying to my car.

So you're going then?

No.

I say the words shortly, giving him a wounded look.

Then where are you off to in such a hurry?

He sounds amused, only angering me more.

I'm going home.

I want to smack him, but I refrain as I turn the key in the lock of my door.

Sure you are.

I sigh in frustration, turning to face him as I swing the door open.

You know what, sometimes you're a very mean person.

He gives me a shocked look, only making me more upset, and I slam my door, rev the engine, and peel out of the parking lot.

How could I let him break my heart all over again?

on mistakes

The only resolution and the only joy is the faint spark of forgiveness in your eye- Snow Patrol (Signal Fire)
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How was your trip?

I smile at him as I grab a drink,

I made a few mistakes.

Did you at least get their names?

He says the words nonchalantly, a twinkle in his eyes.

I look straight back-

I didn't need to. I usually make the same mistake twice,

The words are flippant as I walk past him, my shoulder brushing his.

Still,

I am a bit tired of this game of cat and mouse.