Battle Cry

We may be past listening to each other, depending on the situation. I peer at my phone and roll my eyes. I don't know if I'm annoyed with them answering or not answering at this point. Maybe we have known each other for a long time. Maybe they are always pulling stuff like this, maybe I'm the real combative person. A noise tricks me into looking at my phone again, but i shove it under a blanket in frustration. It isn't them, and I cant tell if my heart really misses them or if the adrenaline flowing through my veins just wants to keep fighting. I think I'm tired of fighting.

One of the many people I vented to (I have a bad habit of talking about them to everyone when we fight) suggested me thinking of why I still care anymore. It was a good point, and now that the anger is starting to plateau, I can see why that would be good. We go at this time and time again. Constantly fighting, pulling low blows, aiming crotch shots and dagger-like words. I'm almost tired of suiting up to go to battle with someone who was once so close. As I remember vaguely hearing, I pull out a sheet of paper and a pen.

Splitting the paper in half, I write good and bad on opposite sides of the paper. It stays blank for a minute, then the bad side begins to pile. All the blows I sustained recently. The whole reason I'm mad. Character flaws I only see when you piss me off. The list goes from a creek to Roe River to the Mississippi. I stop once my hand gets tired and my words get stale. Setting the pen down, I walk away for a minute. My head is swirling. Why do I keep you around? Why do I let you have so much power over me? Are you even worth it? Apparently, if you're a true friend, you will be.

I return again, pick up the pen and start to list the positives, truly hoping that you'll surprise me.