Please Don’t Cry In This Burger Restaurant

This might be the worst possible place to do this, if i’m honest.

It’s never a good look when a woman cries in front of a man. Period. I mean, think about me for a second would you? People are going to see this frail, artificial red-head mope-faced banging her fists on a table, the ketchup’s going to get all over your palms and i’m going to get arrested.

When I stopped finding your hair in my vacuum, I knew it was over for us.

You never cared that my only bed was a mat on the floor. That made you a bit special, if i’m honest. All that money I spent on hotel rooms, we were a chaotic romance. The food just got here and i’m afraid that you’re going to dip your elbows in the curly fries, I wanted some.

I saw you intentionally leave behind your barrettes when you’d take them out of your hair. Did you think that i’d return them? I’ve never even given my parents gifts on their birthdays.

You only liked to come over on the Holidays. Our first time after Thanksgiving, remember? You were driving home high after going to the candlelit vigil for those migrant children. A 45 minute drive for you, a mild room-cleanup for me. Next time it was Christmas. I went home early from family with a shitty excuse on New Years for you.

People are starting to pay attention to us. I don’t like for us to be noticed, we were never official enough for that. Please. Don’t grab my hand after touching your meat patty.

I still daydream about the first time I saw you laying down on my floor, coming into the room after a piss break. Turned on your side, staring at nothing. Statuesque, baroque like a painting, all’s perfect except for that Simpsons tattoo on your left deltoid. Why do you think I always turned you on your other side with the lights off?

Don’t use that napkin, I put my gum in there. You made a bad choice wearing eyeliner, eyeshadow today. Sometimes there shouldn’t be a first time for everything.

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