March 4, 2010
This song does not move you to tears.
“I don’t know if I can marry you if you don’t cry when you listen to this,” I say, only half-joking.
“Well, I guess we’re not getting married,” he says, his eyes flashing.
“I don’t expect you to break down sobbing every time,” I say. “But I need you to at least understand how this song could make someone cry. Don’t you feel it? I could listen to this a whole night and just cry myself out.”
“Good for fucking you!”
The fight only escalates from there. It’s not about the song, anymore, and at the end, we are breathing heavily and full of hatred. I take off my ring and throw it at your face before turning on my heel and leaving.
Outside, the wind is shaking the trees, and the leaves are swirling, and there is a storm in the distance, coming closer. I stomp across the courtyard to my apartment and cry until the sun breaks across the sky.
