Even though you know it's coming.
You have known that it was coming since very early on.
Even having a clear awareness, an understanding of the inevitable.
Every explanation rational or imaginable.
When it arrives, and maybe it arrives late, say by about two months -
it's still a punch in the gut or a flash of light outside of the peripheral vision
requiring that you sit down holding your head.
Stunned.
And then after a spell it starts to register that you got hit.
And then it starts to register that it hurt.
And then maybe your eyes fill up and you start to cry.
And you know you got hit because you were too much of a pussy to take responsibility for your own shit.
You were too much of a pussy to throw the punch.
*meow*
Then again, maybe it's not you.
Maybe it's not you.
Maybe it's me.
7 comments:
You are officially a blog tease. I want an e-mail!
Asshole tax!!
I'm soo sorry:-(
Since I've sworn off alcohol during the week...I'll buy you a strong coffee:-)
I hope we are talking a metaphorical punch
sfmd: it's a metaphorical punch. But I'm pretty sure that my response to the real thing would be pretty similar
ldbug: mmmm. coffee. =d
kat e: yeah I know. it's terrible. ;)
To me this post was all about a boy.
And right or wrong, a phone call is very warranted.
BBFK: Spot on Woman. Spot on.
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