relationships

Werewolf

Sometimes I want to apologize for the way I’ve become. I can see myself, a spirit outside of it’s body, an automated reaction developed from endless moments of behavioral reinforcement. I want to say I’m sorry because I know this isn’t me. And I know it isn’t you.

Here I am screaming at you, telling you it’s over and that I’m exhausted for the Nth time. My voice appears raw and vulnerable although we both know it is so calculated. In reality I’m not as exhausted as I say; I’m not as overflowing with emotions as I display to you now, on the phone, in your car, on the front porch. At most I’m regaining awareness of how clumsily we fit together. My subconscious mind musters up the energy for the scene that you have taught me will be the key to regaining your affection momentarily. We’ll spend the next few hours wrapped into each other in blissful contentment, actually communicating, actually seeing each other, actually being present in the room while the other recants their menial daily routine. Not like they need to. We already know the other’s schedules by this point. We have invested so much time in each other so that when the inevitable fade begins and our toxic combination becomes evident, we know how to respond. Our silent pact. Our unsaid agreement that we are in this, no matter how abrasive and unnatural we become to each other as a result of being with each other.

You ignore me for a few days. My subconscious mind musters up the energy for a scene.

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