The Land Before Time.

I bleach my teeth, I paint my nails, I shave my legs and you don't even care.
Emotion burns, true, and clear and fast they tell me. So how is it
that you and I have managed to hide it, to ignore it, to call it
anything but. I'm not so sure if that means you'd rather keep me
locked up in some closet, to take me out when the time seemed right.
To introduce me by a name and no more, suggesting that I'm just that
girl who sometimes comes around and sometimes stays the night. It
isn't as if I don't understand their knowing smiles and words flung
behind my back.

I guess I see that and I guess I have consented to that role in some
twisted way. I treat you in the same way and maybe that's why this
works so well. We don't bother with each other's emotions or meddle in
lives not our own, questions aren't asked, information is not offered.
You only exist one day a week and how genius is that. The problem is
as time passes and the urgency of you departure looms more heavily, I
start thinking of you on Monday's and Tuesday's and Wednesday's.
Suddenly Thursday is not soon enough. And this, above all else, is
what troubles me.

I've spent all of this time making certain that you and I didn't
become something not meant to be. Because really, who needs the
heartbreak, the trauma, the anger, or the disappointment of something
like this failing. All the while, silly clichés run amuck in my head.
Better to have loved and lost, etc, etc, etc, etc. But such silly
phrases were penned and repeated by disgruntled souls wishing only to
justify their own failed romantic endeavors. So I guess in our own
muddled brilliance we have decided to excise the whole part about
romance and instead take with us what is left. I find myself asking,
more times that I am comfortable with, what is it that has been
leftover, cast aside. I sometimes don't know if this grand attempt to
disillusion our own selves has already failed. If what in fact is
sitting before us is exactly what we have tried to avoid. A rose by
any other name says Romeo.

So this is why I have to consider the worth of continuing the good
fight. It seems so illogical to invest even more in something I know
will fade and disappear in a few short months. But something
unfamiliar fights me, it makes me answer your calls even when I feel
like I shouldn't. It makes me spend the night even when I know it will
just make it hurt more in the end. Because, maybe, just maybe maybe
maybe sometimes maybe it might be worth it to see where this ends up.