When We Fought

When we fought, it wasn't like we were intentionally trying to hurt one another. We were hurting and wanting someone to identify with that so we hurt one another. When we fought it wasn't because it drew the neighbor's attention, and it wasn't because we wanted our friends to see that we were real. When we fought, we meant to be talking about something else, and the pettiness of my job, of his work, of either one of our previous sexual exploits or the weather was what floated to the top and created a thin covering like pudding skin over the real issue. We fought, and it really wasn't anything.

"If you wanted to spend more time with me, you would have finished the assignment and you wouldn't have had to go meet with your professor in the first place. Sometimes I swear you do this on purpose. Please put down the guitar."

"Well it wasn't me who decided that we should forego the whole money thing. This is a capitalist nation. You're too much of an idealist for our own good."

"What is this 'our' anyway? You said that before. This is me. This is you. This is you chilling with your professor instead of meeting me."

"Are you mad?"

"No. I just hate you."

"I love you, baby."