I can’t stand that everything John says is a quote, a handful of scripted words that are easy to say for the sake of saying something. I play out an entire fight between us in my head and watch myself shout the filthiest words I know at John. I see him crying at the end, which is exactly what I’m aiming for. This rage doesn’t understand proportions, but, like me, it is also a coward, it gives up too quickly and folds into sadness. It’s equally as tired as I am, and I can’t even go back to show him my disappointment.
