I Can’t Be Who You Want Me To Be

I can dance in your hazy living room to your favorite electronic music with your friends. I can stay drunk and high with you under the sun on the boat from dusk to dawn. I can drunkenly fall asleep in your bed at 3am when we get home from a night at all our favorite bars.

But I can’t be who you want me to be.

We sit on your bed as the sun fades down on another hot summer weekend. You pick the movie and you let me pick the strain of green to burn. Just as I begin to feel the buzz course through my head, I catch you look at me with that familiar gaze. Once again, I pretend I don’t notice the way you hold my stare for just a second too long…but I’ve become very good at pretending these past 2 months.

So we reminisce on the weekend…the cool feel of the lake when we jumped off the boat, how strong and terrible the drinks you made were, where these blossoming bruises on my legs came from and you blame me for being a clumsy woman. You always have been the observant one.

But we don’t talk about that gaze.

The one you’ve given me for weeks that I catch every so often. You’ve come to know more about me in a short time than most, the good AND the bad. Even with the full knowledge of how selfish I can be, you still look at me at with that gaze.

The one I can’t return.

I hate to say that I’ve become dependent on you. For advice when I have troubles and for encouragement when I’m nervous. The need to fill you in on details of my day, no matter how mundane, is incessant.

And you always have an answer. You always have a poignant response to any of my comments. Still I pretend not to see the way I affect you. Because I can’t be who you want me to be. I can’t give you what you so urgently want and what you so deserve.

And I’m so sorry.

So we’ll continue to pick movies and smoke, and stay drunk and high off each other from Friday to Sunday, and I’ll continue to sleep on my side of your bed.

Because I can’t leave, and you won’t let me go.