It'll never work

It'll never work!

You're too, you know, and I'm so, well, and those two just really don't mesh together. And when we were walking our strides were at different times and imagine how awkward it'll be, holding hands down the street if we're advancing at different speeds, two bodies bobbing up and down at the wrong times like the worst game of whack-a-mole ever. And when we sat down for the show you looked so angry that I'd put my coat on the floor and I didn't know how to make that look get away from your face, and when we got up from the bar you walked me out and then you walked back in to pee and you left me on that sidewalk all on my own and it could never work if you abandoned me like that, it just couldn't.

It'll never work because you pronounce water wo-ter and I say wa-ter and sure it's cute now, but what about the day where we're both hungover in bed and we're arguing about who's going to get who you-know-what and we aren't even saying it the same? And come to think of it, it could never work if you didn't chivalrously offer to get up and bring the water anyways, so there you go, it's solved, it'll never work.

It'll never work because you look like you and I look like me and our faces are different and your hands are so big that mine feel small in them and maybe sometimes I'll want to feel big too and what'll we do then, huh, you tell me. And because I like your torso but what if you get fat one day, those things happen when you get older you know, what if you get fat one day and I look at the broad expanse of your chest and I can't catch the same breath in my throat as I do now, have you thought about that?

It'll never work because I like your smile too much and my heart jumps every time you do it because of something I say and I don't want it, the effort of making you smile, it's just too much pressure for me right now. And you wear glasses and sometimes I wear mine, too, so how will we kiss once we're bespectacled the both of us, I've never had braces but I'm pretty sure that's what it'll feel like, two kids tangling up their wires.

It'll never work because you held me oh so tight when we went to sleep and I was thinking I never wanted it to end and I'm scared of that, you know, the tension between moment and finish, and you kissed my back before you turned around and it did that whole thing to my tummy that makes me wish it could. And you held my hand under your arm when we were walking and you had your umbrella, sure, but my hand was squeezed against your elbow and that's a little too nice a sensation, don't you think, it would be unreasonable not to suspect it.

It'll never work because I'm your rebound and you're my summer fling and neither of us wants it to work, really, we're just playing house until the other calls it, both of us hungry enough for this appetizer but not quite sure we're ready for the full meal.

It'll never work, and thank god, actually, because how stressful if it did. But maybe we should kiss - just in case it might?