Its funny, how sometimes, you realize something at the most ridiculous moment...
As we sat on my bathroom floor at about quarter past 3 a.m., you - puking your guts out, and me - rubbing your back gently with one hand and nervously picking at a red spot of dried hair dye on my fuzzy green carpet with the other, it all came together.
*thinks* (Love is about staying up all night with someone while they puke after drinking way too much at the bar, even when you have to get up for work very soon and your day promises to be very miserable and hungover-ish)
He is so sick he's almost in tears. I hand him a dixie cup of water, much like i was handing him shot after shot of 151 just a few hours before. He drinks it and slams his head back onto the lid of the toilet. Sitting on this floor is starting to suck, the hair-dye spot is starting to frustrate me, and i cant stand the way his puke smells.
i drag him to my room where he collapses on my feather bed and almost instantaneously passes out. But no sooner have i turned off the light than i hear him mutter "Get me a bucket."
Well, fuck.
So i get up and get the bucket, and we repeat the process as last seen in the bathroom, this time very carefully over my fluffy white comforter. I watch him cough and gag and moan, and all i can think is "I hope he doesnt puke on my blanket."
And sitting there on my bed, watching him in agony, him - puking into a bucket as my cat stares curiously at him, and me - pretending to be interested in some late night talk show... it comes to me.
Me and Justin made up this stupid rule awhile ago... he's a blanket-hog, and it really pisses me off when i wake up in the middle of the night and he has all 3 of my blankets wrapped around him while my half-naked body is covered only in goosebumps... so we came up with this plan, if you will. we each get our own blanket. makes sense, right? the problem is, we always fight for who gets the feather comforter. I think i should, because it is, in fact, my comforter. He thinks he should because he is him.
Tonight i make him take the other blanket. Its been a long night. Like most other nights we've spent together recently, it didnt go as i planned it, and i just want to go to sleep and forget about it altogether. And as i lay my head down on my pillow, and choke out "goodnight", it all comes together...
Living in the fantasy in my head is getting tired. Its always going to be about taking care of him when he's sick, for better or for worse. Giving him the last dixie cup. Staying up all night to be with him so he doesnt have to be alone. Buying him shots. Taking him out. Putting him to bed. Giving him all the things he never bothers to give me. I'm bitter, I'm sad, I'm hateful. Not even a thank you, or an appreciative smile. Is this what i live for? its all coming together in my head. Love is pointless if the one you love doesnt return it. I get myself sick over him, and where is he to rub my back? To put me to bed? To be with me when the night just plain sucks, like tonight....
But despite what my head says, my heart knows different. And my heart wont let go of this guy. My heart cries, and hurts... but it wont let go. And my heart says "Love is perseverance. Love is not letting go, just because its easier. Love is putting up with someone's shit, if they mean enough to you. Love is understanding, love is forgiving. Love is staying up all night with someone when they need it. Love is holding their hand while they throw up, and putting them to bed when they've had too much to drink. Love is needing someone. Love is..."
And i dont finish that last thought. I take half of my fluffy white comforter and cover him with it, and kiss his sweaty cheek, even though i know that i will wake up without any blanket at all because he will undoubtedly covet it all for himself, and... that's ok.
I whisper "I love you" in his ear, even though i know he is already passed out. Tomorrow, he will remember none of it.
As we sat on my bathroom floor at about quarter past 3 a.m., you - puking your guts out, and me - rubbing your back gently with one hand and nervously picking at a red spot of dried hair dye on my fuzzy green carpet with the other, it all came together.
*thinks* (Love is about staying up all night with someone while they puke after drinking way too much at the bar, even when you have to get up for work very soon and your day promises to be very miserable and hungover-ish)
He is so sick he's almost in tears. I hand him a dixie cup of water, much like i was handing him shot after shot of 151 just a few hours before. He drinks it and slams his head back onto the lid of the toilet. Sitting on this floor is starting to suck, the hair-dye spot is starting to frustrate me, and i cant stand the way his puke smells.
i drag him to my room where he collapses on my feather bed and almost instantaneously passes out. But no sooner have i turned off the light than i hear him mutter "Get me a bucket."
Well, fuck.
So i get up and get the bucket, and we repeat the process as last seen in the bathroom, this time very carefully over my fluffy white comforter. I watch him cough and gag and moan, and all i can think is "I hope he doesnt puke on my blanket."
And sitting there on my bed, watching him in agony, him - puking into a bucket as my cat stares curiously at him, and me - pretending to be interested in some late night talk show... it comes to me.
Me and Justin made up this stupid rule awhile ago... he's a blanket-hog, and it really pisses me off when i wake up in the middle of the night and he has all 3 of my blankets wrapped around him while my half-naked body is covered only in goosebumps... so we came up with this plan, if you will. we each get our own blanket. makes sense, right? the problem is, we always fight for who gets the feather comforter. I think i should, because it is, in fact, my comforter. He thinks he should because he is him.
Tonight i make him take the other blanket. Its been a long night. Like most other nights we've spent together recently, it didnt go as i planned it, and i just want to go to sleep and forget about it altogether. And as i lay my head down on my pillow, and choke out "goodnight", it all comes together...
Living in the fantasy in my head is getting tired. Its always going to be about taking care of him when he's sick, for better or for worse. Giving him the last dixie cup. Staying up all night to be with him so he doesnt have to be alone. Buying him shots. Taking him out. Putting him to bed. Giving him all the things he never bothers to give me. I'm bitter, I'm sad, I'm hateful. Not even a thank you, or an appreciative smile. Is this what i live for? its all coming together in my head. Love is pointless if the one you love doesnt return it. I get myself sick over him, and where is he to rub my back? To put me to bed? To be with me when the night just plain sucks, like tonight....
But despite what my head says, my heart knows different. And my heart wont let go of this guy. My heart cries, and hurts... but it wont let go. And my heart says "Love is perseverance. Love is not letting go, just because its easier. Love is putting up with someone's shit, if they mean enough to you. Love is understanding, love is forgiving. Love is staying up all night with someone when they need it. Love is holding their hand while they throw up, and putting them to bed when they've had too much to drink. Love is needing someone. Love is..."
And i dont finish that last thought. I take half of my fluffy white comforter and cover him with it, and kiss his sweaty cheek, even though i know that i will wake up without any blanket at all because he will undoubtedly covet it all for himself, and... that's ok.
I whisper "I love you" in his ear, even though i know he is already passed out. Tomorrow, he will remember none of it.
once again...b/c you rock the damn house 
