It Gets Late

You're inebriated, but drive and come find me; it is far less poetic than it sounds. I want more than anything to tell you to be careful, but I can't figure out how, so I don't. A part of me wishes you gave up when you should have, as I watch myself verbally attack you, judge you, attempt to extract any and all emotions I think to be plausible. I wonder the entire time how and when exactly it is that relationships turn into two people using each other. I know love and caring are buried down there somewhere, but at the level we are at it is sucking the marrow out of each other, back and forth (I like to think for survival). I knew that I couldn't sleep alone, and you knew that you couldn't go home, so we end up together, and I guess we lost who each other were when we lost who we, ourselves are. You don't say goodbye as you walk away, leave your dishes in the sink. I wake up alone, to the recollection of taunting you about what's in your car, we both know I wish you'd get pulled over, and I am sorry for that. Someone told me once that all relationships (and their state of being) simply reflect the persons in them. This makes an abundance of sense to me. You are fiercely seeking all escapes from this life, and I am simultaneously pushing it deep into my veins. I hope we get healthy again, and you never say that nothing sounds interesting or appealing, and I never again say that I hate you. Maybe you're just as low as I am, and someone I love once told me there is a set path for a reason, to stay on it, and I hope you find it. And the other night when we talked about the 'alternative', and if I do get stuck on that thank you for not giving up. You drop things like me, and I fuck up things like you, we did always say that we were each other's exception to rules, I hope you remember.