“I’m not saying its a bad thing.”
I’m mentally exhausted. This has been one of those taxing conversations, the kind that consistently borders on hostile but remains just civil enough to not slip into the ‘argument’ category.
“Really? Because…how did you put it? Being turned into a ‘mindless, sappy slave’ sort of sounds like you’re saying it’s a bad thing.”
You make that low, humming noise that you do when you disagree and shake your head. “Not entirely. It might actually be kind of nice, being like that. Completely oblivious to all other bullshit, because you’re so enamored with someone that you see the world through rose-colored glasses all the time. Stupid, but nice.”
“…Stupid, but nice,” I repeat dully. “That’s your final take on being in love.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up.”
I don’t say anything for awhile, only wait to see if you’ll change your mind and elaborate, as you so often do. You don’t. “Well, aren’t you going to ask what my final take on being in love is, then?” I finally ask.
You smile. I hate it. “What, you’re not curious at all what I think?”
“I am not. I already know what you think. You make it too easy for me, really. To get inside your head. Which is…nice.” You pause, eyes gleaming mischievously. “Stupid, but nice.”
You wink and walk away, leaving me standing there, slack-jawed and mortified.
I wonder how long you’ve known just how deeply and stupidly in love with you I am.