Cheesecake and Heartbreak
She hadn’t touched her desert. New York cheesecake was her absolute favorite; $7.95 had never looked so wasted. Apparently, the operation where she had completely aborted my heart was a success, her satisfaction was reward enough, and there was no need for any celebratory cheese-based deserts. I’m not sure if the Geneva Convention would recognize a girl breaking up with a guy on her lunch hour in a crowded restaurant as a war crime, but surely it is a direct violation of human rights, and that is punishable by death in most countries. Remind me later to contact the United States Attorney Generals office concerning this matter.
For five years now those piercing blue eyes have welcomed mine amorously, now they have been replaced with short subsequent glances laced with both awkwardness and relief. She is still talking and it could not be anymore ineffectual, I’ve heard the same song and dance climactically at the end of every relationship that I’ve had thus far. It very much so resembles a concession speech for the losing presidential candidate; they speak of goals, and what must have gone wrong, and what the future might hold. I’m sure the words have merit, but I’ve already quit listening. It’s almost a funny thought; how should it be possible to be in the middle of having your soul raped and still have a genuine concern of how we’re to split up our DVD collection?