The Takeout Box

Quick

tell me what just happened?

how did we get to this sour place- was it the rainbow straws?

why do i feel so bitter- was it the whiskey?

I am deciphering our fighting language,

and I’m afraid the translation will reveal that it is all on me,

it is all my fault.

The routine:

1(me): 

2(you):

1: brings up old shit unnecessarily because I am incapable of fully processing through emotions related to specific incidents

1: decides to move on

2: harps on the negative thing that was brought up without ever actually apologizing

1: really very much so want to stop talking about this—which is unfair and not how couples fight- you cannot send a cease and desist in the middle of an argument

2: tempers flare

1: inebriation becomes apparent 

3: the restaurant witnesses us in combat

it is both our fault 

now what do we do?

quick, 

before we break it again.

I want this to be the worst fight we’ve ever had,

they didn't use to be so scary,

I wasn't constantly afraid you were going to leave me.

but you took the takeout box,

making large strides towards your house

and it felt a lot like you were leaving me 

again.