I told him that I wasn't at my place. That I was around town searching for something new. The Koreatown lifestyle was good to me for a year--it gave me him--but my year was up and maybe it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. He recommended a place down the street from his, before bombarding me with a bunch of whys. Seven of them I counted, but they fell on deaf ears after the first two.
Why couldn't he just say the words I so desperately wanted him to say? Why couldn't he just say them? Why couldn't I just say them for him? Why couldn't I just open my mouth and tell him how I felt? Why couldn't I say it? Why couldn't he?
The things we never say are always more important than the things we do. We live in the awkward silences and the broken pauses between words hoping the other says what we could never say, but by the end of the conversation those hopes and wishes dissipitate into the night, just waiting for another chance to be heard.
Maybe I should stay, whats one more day.
Third paragraph is the truth.
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