He likes to pretend, or to make me think that it’s something I am not doing…like it’s something I can turn on or off and he’ll come running to me. Damn you, Ben. I know it isn’t me, and I know you. You like to act like the playful little scamp, making messes and getting out of them by denying any responsibility. Maybe I am waiting for you to grow up.
Hell, darling I did.
Yes, I love you. Yes, I know what that makes me. Yes, I am tired of it, too. No, I can’t stop. You can’t either, even if you stick with your “maybe”.
Gotta say it again– I love you, Ben. You stupid, aggravating, no-count, exasperating son-of-a-bitch.