I DON’T KNOW WHAT LOVE IS (I just do as I’m told)
So this is supposed to be the climax of romanticism. So I’m supposed to be in love with you. And I promise I tried.
You’re sitting here, across the table crammed with half-spilled champagne glasses, small china plates stained by chocolate syrup, greasy silverware and overloaded ashtrays. All of them somehow testifying of the battle that’s been raging for the past few hours, a battle you’ve never even been aware of, a battle you’ve lost in blessed innocence.
You’re sitting in front of me, holding my hand in yours, smiling. And still, you’ve lost.
I look into your eyes, glassed over by alcohol, like tiny television sets, and all II can see is a character that looks very much like me, calmly mouthing words I would never say, words that obscenely betray my reality. I’m the anchorwoman of your live broadcast fall.
This character, she says I’m so happy I found you. She whispers I feel so safe with you. She pauses and smiles between I’ve been waiting for you and Kiss me.
I know these cheesy lines by heart. Every girl knows them, because once in our lives, we’ve all watched Titanic, read Glamour and listened to Mariah Carey.
Just push the right buttons and here we go, automatically spilling out this crap on cue.
I’m like every other wildly polite girl. I say what people expect me to say, I act as society codes expect me to act.
At the terrace of this expensive restaurant, I say I love you. And another smile slits my face in two. You’re beaming, like you’ve won a trophy.
Except that your pride and feeling of security are as fake as my outright lies.
Truth is, I feel nothing. I just know I should.
You’ve lost.
// itsahollowplay // 