She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy. Because things were so much simpler when you weren't. Back then, she would pay for everything come friday, but be broke by Monday, at the latest. The two of you had an unacknowledged "something" going on...though unacknowledged, still prevalent. And things were perfect. She sometimes wishes that she hadn't shied away from initiative and had taken the plunge earlier, so that you two would have made the best of your time and had more experience under both of your belts. But maybe...maybe she needed to sleep with a loser a month for three months straight. Maybe she needed all that extra pain. All of that extra longing. Seeing you when being crushed under the weight of some random person she found, sweaty and drowning her in the stench of sex. Seeing you while naked on the floor, watching some sappy indie movie that if you haven't seen it, all the indie kids will either judge you or force you to see it with them at their pretentious-as-fuck studio apartment/loft so they can show you how indie they really are. Seeing you while a thirty-four year old in nothing but his boxer shorts is telling her how long he's been waiting for that moment. Seeing you while being attacked by a horrible kisser, who won't stop telling her how goddamn cute she looked that night.
She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy.
She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy because not only is she in love with you, you are her best friend, her go-to, her first pick, her first priority. To her, nothing compares to simply sitting in your car and listening to you talk, or to sitting outside and smoking cigarettes and barely talking, or taking you shopping with her even though she can tell that you're bored out of your mind. She is still in awe that she found you and has still managed to not scare you off. Because that's definitely something that she tends to do.
She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy. Sometimes...in fact, in most relationships she's been in, if you gave her a wee bit of time to come face to face with herself, she'd talk herself into hating you. And to tell you the truth, she's done it to you, too. But it didn't really work out as planned. Because the second she saw you again, the hatred flecked away like rain droplets on your car windows. Because no matter what she hates about you, when she sees you again, she will fall in love with you all over again because she realizes that she loves hating those things about you.
She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy. Because tonight would be the night. Tonight would be the night that both you and her would realize that you two want nothing more than eachother, and just to be with eachother, and to breathe with eachother, and laugh with eachother, and fight with eachother, be poor with eachother, be rich with eachother, be pretentious with eachother, be chill as fuck with eachother, be dank as shit with eachother, make fun of people who are chill as fuck and/or dank as shit with eachother, be sick with eachother, be lonely with eachother, be creative with eachother, sleep in until the late afternoon with eachother, grow up with eachother, live with eachother, go to school with eachother, eat ramen (the only thing left in the whole fucking house) with eachother...Or, more simply put, to simply be in love with eachother.
She sometimes wishes that...th-that, th-that, that you weren't so
She sometimes w-wishes that you weren't s-so goddamn fucking busy.
She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy. Because you know what you'd be doing? Do you know what the two of you would be doing right now, right this very moment, this very second, if you weren't so busy? Well, first off, you'd start the night by picking her up at your house. She would be wearing that coat, you know, that one coat that she's been wearing almost every single day since she bought it, just because she's strange like that. She would be wearing that coat and walking to your car in the pouring rain without an umbrella. She doesn't have an umbrella because she thinks she left in your car about two or three months ago, but hasn't seen it in your car since then, but maybe she will tonight. She'll get in the car, soaking wet- but apparently the rain doesn't wash away the weed or the cigarette stench. Because she reeks. Because she has nothing to do with her life. Because the economy has gone to shit. But the only things that haven't gone to shit are weed and cigarettes, so she's taken advantage of both of them. Every single day. She would say hey, and you would mutter hey back, then maybe a peck, then she'd take control of the iPod because it gives her something to do whenever neither of you have anything to say. Maybe the two of you would drive to the movie theatre, and wait around in the rain and smoke your life away for an hour or two until the movie starts. You'd go to the movie, and though she'll look immersed, and pretend that she was immersed and talk like she was immersed after the movie's over, you can safely know that she wasn't really paying attention the whole time. She was drifting off into the black hole of daydreams, or eveningdreams I guess one should call them. After the movie, you'd run back into the car, braving the storm. Get inside, turn on the heat, turn on some Modest Mouse or Interpol or what have you, hold hands, and drive. Maybe you'd go to Starbucks and get something warm, then go outside where it's still pouring rain and find somewhere to sit. She'd smoke the equivalent of a pack of cigarettes while listening to you talk. and talk. and talk. Then maybe you'd take her home. But not without a brief kiss in the car. So you kiss her, and send her back off into the cold, cruel world that is her life. Send her back, return to sender. But she'll always be at your beck and call. She will always be waiting by the phone, waiting for any form of contact. She will always be there for you. Always. It's just...
...she sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy.