The night had started strong and got lost somewhere between Dracula and Halloween. The scales had tipped and that unfortunate direction had swept over us both, like a cloud of gnats across the face of a sleeping river.

"Shit", I thought as the lights went out. And I held my breath for what neared an eternity and then I followed my instinct and checked.

You clung there in a corner wrapped in what appeared to be a hatred. Of what? I not yet had a comprehension. But I thought for the breifest of moments it may be me.

"It's not always about you!" You screamed in my head as I jumped to the pace of the music rising. But is it? You say it's not, but what does that mean in the grand sceme of things? I feel so disconnect from you at times like this, and no matter how I try, or how directly I tell you, I think you'll never see that.

Never understand the rage that flows out of me is filled with regret, and usually nothing more. And why not? My literal feelings toward you never span that terrible negative end of the spectrum where the dark thoughts lie. Do you know that? Or do I just think it?

Sometimes it feels like the only thing that separates us is misdirection. A bullet with a smiley face shot through a pane of glass and still caught in your teeth, and no matter how well I guess as to how the trick was done, you still tell me I'm wrong. Am I?

Yes
No
Do nothing