fictional men drinking fictional beer

You hand me a can and I don’t have the strength to tell you that I don’t even like the taste of beer. As I sit with you on your shitty patio and sip from the can, I begin to think maybe it won’t be so bad this time around, but I don’t know if i mean the beer or you and I. Just like all the times before this. I can’t even fathom why I’ve never told you that I don’t like beer. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid that whatever this is, whatever we have, will come to an end. Maybe it’s just a poor excuse to be able to sit and talk with you for another evening. I don’t know. I don’t think you have enough heart to tell me to fuck off and leave you alone or a heart at all. I don’t think I care. I want you in full, every small mistake you’ve ever made and every colossal fuckup in that beautiful brain of yours. Give it all to me so I can give you all of mine in return. Heart or not. I don’t say any of this to you, I never will. Instead i sip on the beer that I hate and watch the man that I love.