Love?

“You’re a real fuck up, you know that?” trailed from her waxy lips as she walked towards the door. I did know, but it wasn’t my fault; it was never my fault.

So I sat there, staring at nothing, dejected and annoyed with myself. Sitting so long my legs fell asleep from the chair and I began to imagine life without them. Pity me for I have no legs! Pile my excuses and failures on my crippled frame, say, how about a dollar? It is acceptable to drink when you are down and out, when you have no legs. Just a dollar, I mean three, I can get the cheap shit for three dollars, promise.

My eyes dry and fixated, finally blinking at the clink of melting ice jostling in a glass on my desk. I want to call and apologize, I want to tell her I love her, but I am too tired to care. Her unfinished cigarette by the cracked window, tentacles of white being pulled out into the humid air, living momentarily. She is already home and hating me, my touch was a mistake. Her face burning in fury, she looked absolutely beautiful.