DEAR BOYS IN BARS,
We all know it's going to happen in this vicious little neighborhood. We're going to stop dating, and we're going to say we're still friends, you know. That whole game. And then you're going to show up with a new girl, and you'll be sitting at a table for two. And the look is going to leap from my face to yours or vice versa, and the people I'm with are going to know something has passed between us. This will happen exactly when I don't think I give a shit anymore. When I can stand on a street corner and look everybody in the eye. And that's when I'm going to remember that I'm too big, I'm too many kinds of troublesome. Too many feelings, too cool for school. Skirt too short. Too demanding. Too distant. Not real enough for you, right? She's real. She has studs in her ears. And she's a size six. Tell me I didn't see it coming, when we had it out in front of my old apartment. I told you that you weren't emotionally damaged for the right girl, but I was the wrong girl. And that the right girl would be skinny, she wouldn't talk your ear off about theory and poetry.
This is my best secret: I know what I'm worth. I don't know why I let you in like this, why I reject you halfway. Enough to make me disgusted but not enough for me to close the door and just dance my ass off without you. My old roommate was right: when I told her I was going to drive over to your house at night in my red trenchcoat and leave you an extremely obvious mixtape, she told me I was wrong. She told me I should forget all about you for a few weeks and listen to riotgrrrl and throw away all the mirrors. I know she was right, and this is the thing that I have to admit now.
And this, and this too: all of it happened a year ago. This is me packing it up and moving on. You're not going to get that second chance after all.
Promising Rookie in the Heartbreak Business, Both Making and Taking,
Sarah
We all know it's going to happen in this vicious little neighborhood. We're going to stop dating, and we're going to say we're still friends, you know. That whole game. And then you're going to show up with a new girl, and you'll be sitting at a table for two. And the look is going to leap from my face to yours or vice versa, and the people I'm with are going to know something has passed between us. This will happen exactly when I don't think I give a shit anymore. When I can stand on a street corner and look everybody in the eye. And that's when I'm going to remember that I'm too big, I'm too many kinds of troublesome. Too many feelings, too cool for school. Skirt too short. Too demanding. Too distant. Not real enough for you, right? She's real. She has studs in her ears. And she's a size six. Tell me I didn't see it coming, when we had it out in front of my old apartment. I told you that you weren't emotionally damaged for the right girl, but I was the wrong girl. And that the right girl would be skinny, she wouldn't talk your ear off about theory and poetry.
This is my best secret: I know what I'm worth. I don't know why I let you in like this, why I reject you halfway. Enough to make me disgusted but not enough for me to close the door and just dance my ass off without you. My old roommate was right: when I told her I was going to drive over to your house at night in my red trenchcoat and leave you an extremely obvious mixtape, she told me I was wrong. She told me I should forget all about you for a few weeks and listen to riotgrrrl and throw away all the mirrors. I know she was right, and this is the thing that I have to admit now.
And this, and this too: all of it happened a year ago. This is me packing it up and moving on. You're not going to get that second chance after all.
Promising Rookie in the Heartbreak Business, Both Making and Taking,
Sarah
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