No one looks good under fluorescent lights

Texty McTextstein hated it when I "talked like a writer." It drove him nuts. He wanted me to be real, and he said flowery language made me less real. That I talked in circles without saying anything. I disagreed.

One night, I got out of bed, pillow in hand. He asked where I was going and I said I was sleeping on the couch. When he asked why, I said because sleeping alone by myself is less depressing than sleeping alone next to you. He told me to stop talking like I was writing a novel and start talking about how I really felt. I told him to shut up and slept on the couch.

When I first met him, the thing that drew me to him, the thing that made me love him was the positive energy he radiated. Even though he was always late. Even though he was seriously lacking in the consideration for others department. Even though he smoked too much pot and flirted shamelessly with other girls. I held on because I hoped I could catch some of his light.

When I found out that the light wasn't real, that it was a lie, I hated him for it.