This is the trippiest, messiest, most confusing dilemma I've allowed myself to have.
What was I supposed to say to you when you called me at midnight, telling me how sorry you were, clearly sounding very intoxicated.
What was I supposed to do when you showed up at my apartment at 1 in the morning, threw yourself around me, reeking of malt liquor and begging me to forgive you.
What was I supposed to answer you when you got down on your knees, asking me the very questions I've always wanted to hear from you. Making promises that no man could ever deliver.
Yet I took you in and watched you sleep and slur and fall all over your words. Watched you clutch onto my hands, mumbling my name incoherently but knowing you'll remember nothing in the morning. I sat by you, staying up the entire night, shifting in between memorizing French verbs and checking up on you.
When the sun rose and stained the sky with the prettiest shades of red, yellow and orange, you said sorry for messing up and asked if you could leave.
And as usual, I said yes, watched your back walk out the door and sat in the emptiest and darkest living room alone.