|We were like the little relationship that couldn't.|
Somewhere in the middle of the vexation part, I began a maniacal hair-curling session.
I had been fidgeting for his response when I suddenly noticed the tiny thin rods tucked away in my set of curlers that I'd never used before. Huh, I wonder what that would look like? Girls I know with tight curls always look so cute, lemme try. There was nothing on my agenda that would be affected by a bad hair day so why not.
Well, here's why not:
|FAIL. Almost me, except I have dark hair |
and the heart shape would be broken & bleeding.
The last exchange had been approaching a bitter note and so I stepped into his stressed-out shoes and thoughtfully (at least attempted) to cull together a string of "I" statements, hoping to offset the mood.
But it, uh, didn't work so well.
I find your lack of win disturbing.
May the fail be with you.
Yeah, see? This was awesome. We are so mature.
An Apocalyptical Failure
Seriously Man, Even Homer Facepalmed.
Or, more like FACEPALMED with all caps:
Jesus may even have been facepalming at this one:
We ended on a sweet and terrible note. "Talk to you next year!"
The care packages I started to put together and letters I started to write, things I put together to send this boy while deployed, I don't know what to do with any of it now.
He indicated he didn't want to hold me back, be a burden while he was gone. He won't let me stay attached.
I never could really tell if that was man-code for "wahoo, I'm off the hook!" or if he really wanted to "set me free." And now I'll never know.