Violent Things

None of my shit ever seemed more important than hers, and that was by my standing.

I tuned out the black and white sitcom from the 1950s and closed my eyes. I never did have trouble falling asleep with background noise on until we moved in together.

The way she’d wake up crying most nights, wishing she were something other than she was, haunted me for months.

I couldn’t say that I understood it, because I didn’t, but I just wanted her to try and realize that she was already so goddamn perfect.

There was nothing to change.

Nothing to hide.

Not from the man that had always loved her more than she’d been willing to acknowledge.

I scoffed as a smile slid across my lips.

Maybe it wasn’t up to me to change her mind about things, however, it wasn’t going to stop me trying to get her to see herself through my eyes at least once.

Draping an arm across my eyes, I knew that the best thing to do right now would to be focus on getting some rest.

Tomorrow, maybe my pretty girl would finally let me show her what I brought home, and if she did, it was going to take all of my strength to hold her back before it was time to indulge in her presents.