This Is Why
You’re dating a girl with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, like wife material pretty. And she gets you, knows you top to bottom. She’s seen you take a shit for Christ’s sake. And she wrestles you like you’re her brother. You plan on asking a psychologist why you love that so much.
You met her while you were still on your game, smoking and drinking like the world was yours. She’s a self-proclaimed art type (no similarities there), has sketches in her backpack and eats up dystopian novels like a light snack. She’s the only girl that’s ever gotten you to say the L word (and mean it). It’s all perfect, destiny, you think, straight out of a Vonnegut novel. Until she catches you with your pants down. Well, not really down, because only your belt is unbuckled but the point’s the same. Your hand is in the pants of a sophomore named Encie. Weird name… You would laugh but you know it’s a name neither of you will ever forget. She came over to surprise you. She’d gone out with her friends but decided she’d like to end the night with you, as she often did. She’s wearing those boots you always wanted her in. How the hell did you not see this coming?
She’s crying now, and Encie’s long gone. Gone to the deep fruitful fields of your conscience. You want to cry, to show her that this is an emotional night for you too. But your cheeks are dry, and you’re sitting there wondering why you don’t feel guilt, regret, or shame. And then not a minute later she’s gone. Mick hands you a bottle of scotch and tells you to pull. And you do, and you laugh at his abrupt seriousness, like all this had just happened to him.
Finally sometime around 3am she calls you (still crying). And you tell her to come back, that you’ll talk it over. Her friends won’t let her but she finds a way. An hour later she’s in your arms on your bed repeating the same words over and over. It’s like listening to your own death sentence. How could you?
And soon it’s all unraveling, and you know in your backstabbing heart that it’s over. You left the door unlocked all evening, the Shakespearean flaw in a night that had potential. She asks you questions that make like rain on cardboard, and one final drop caves you. How could you do this to me?
You used to paint yourselves as stars in the sky, drifting across the universe aimless but together. The implosion will paint your worlds a very different shade. How poetic, you think, and you realize you deserved it all. You glance up into the night, and cry to go back, to shake yourself awake before you etched the ending into the cave walls. You fall asleep together, all of it ending the same way it started. And in the morning you drive her home. No music, no talking, just silence and the rain. It’s the last time she’ll ever be in your car. Before she gets out she tells you something that will snip your entire life in two like bolt cutters: I wore the boots for you.
This is why you’re depressed.