Kyman: Foundations

So it's date night and everything's fine... except you've got that look in your eye.... when I'm telling a story and you find it boring, you're looking for some snide remark to throw at me. You pretend you're listening, then you'll add an almost un-related sarcastic comment in and leave me feeling embarrassed in front of our friends.

Butters says I should leave you alone and go date someone worth my time... Someone who could appreciate me and make me happy, like I deserve.  But I don't know... I still get laughs out of our relationship.

Like when you come home drunk, throw up on my carpet and pass out on my couch, leaving the front door wide open on a freezing night... So I turn on the A/C, leave the damn door open and go sleep in my room with the space heater. When I wake up, I find you still passed out, but wedged between the couch cushions...   After telling this story, people around me are laughing… But not you. "Jesus Christ Kahl, you must have been eating dark chocolate for your period... because you're so fucking bitter..." I knew you meant it as a joke…

However, I couldn't help but reply "I can't help but be bitter… I'd much rather be with one of my other friends, honey, because they're much... fitter."

Yes, it was childish and you got aggressive... (And I must admit, I was a bit scared) But like a toy car, it gives me thrills to wind you up. Kenny and Stan intervened, pulling my body from between you and the wall and calming you down a bit.

Even from across the room, I can hear you say, "Fucking Jersey kike!"

Then I use that voice that you find annoying and reply back to you, "Yeah, intelligent input darling, why don't you just have another beer then?"

"Bitch!" You throw Kenny away from you, which wasn't really necessary as he wasn't standing too close to you and suddenly an awkward silence falls over the room.

I think about calling you 'sweety' and telling you I love you, but decided I used enough bullshit pet names to annoy you tonight. Don't overdo it, I tell myself.

'My fingertips are holding onto the cracks in our foundation and I know that I should let go…
But I can't.'

You glare at me and go grab a sandwich. I manage to escape from Stan and Butters' overprotective natures and meet you in the kitchen.

'And everytime we fight, I know it's not right…
Everytime that you're upset and I smile…
I know I should forget…'

By the end of the night, we're curled up on the couch at home again…

'But I can't.'

You're like a spoiled child and I treat you like an angry, hateful sibling. Maybe I am bitter… But, lover boy, you're not so sweet yourself.