rumors and reputations

Rumor is you’ve got yourself a new girl. Does that track? Sure. I hear she’s only twenty-three (or twenty-four). Does that track? Yes. Who do you think you are? The Leo DiCaprio of Midwestern Lesbians? Did I fuck you up so much that you needed to go so far backwards? You were incapable of having a conversation that ran deeper than your wrinkles, well it sounds like you’ve found yourself the right serum. When you bring her around the family, will she be with you and your sisters? Or go off and play with the nieces and cousins like a girl little girl? Does her mom know? You know, her mom that you work with who’s almost the same age as you? You keep getting older and your girlfriends keep getting younger. No wonder we didn’t work out. Was it too scary for you? To cosplay as a grownup in a grownup relationship? Where we have to face our fears and flaws and use whole words and sentences to communicate? Weaponizing the silent treatment doesn’t work as well on those who know better. I wonder how long this one will last. No doubt you’ll move her in, like you did with all the others who were too young to have roots of their own, faces of their own, identities of their own. You’ll mold her into you, love her like a puppy that follows you everywhere and asks you no questions. She’ll do your housework and adopt your habits because that’s what true love looks like. No independent thoughts, no challenges. Maybe you like ‘em young because you think they’re not broken yet. Broken like me. Because mental health is a disease that leaves us scarred and makes us ugly. Do you know the rest see you as a predator? Messy and bitter with a taste for rookies? And over here I’ve been thinking we were special. That I saw you for you and we were equals, partners, misfits together. I didn’t realize how much you probably hated that. Do you even know who you are? You’re forty fucking eight, for starters. Dating a twenty-three year old. That’s who you are.