I am continually baffled by humans’ complete and utter lack of survival instincts. He doesn’t know why we can’t spend any more time together, or that I’ve already stayed longer than I meant to. I know it’s wrong for me to be frustrated with him.

I’m sorry that you’re having trouble moving on, but we aren’t getting back together. I tug him away from the stairwell so that people can get by, but it appears that we’re more interesting than whatever classes these people have to get to, and almost all of them stick around for the show. I take hold of his elbow and pull him to his feet. But when a relationship with an artist goes bad, it goes spectacularly bad.Īnd apparently not above humiliating himself. It’s hard enough when a relationship ends. And as someone who has spent a long time dealing with the artistic types, I am entirely qualified to say that their peculiarities get old really fast. If I didn’t need them as much as they needed me, I would gladly avoid the whole lot of them. Believe me, I’ve been with enough of them to be intimately familiar with that particular character flaw (along with their penchants for narcissism, mood swings, and a general disdain for a good haircut). They’re fun and charismatic and passionate, but that passion easily tips over into obsession. This is the thing about dating artistic types.

“I haven’t put down a single decent word since you broke up with me.” I feel a little bad for that insensitive thought until he continues, “I can’t write without you, baby.” And that’s what it always comes down to. I can’t sleep.” Can’t shave apparently, judging by the badger living on his face. It’s like something out of a bad 80s romantic comedy (who am I kidding? There’s no such thing as a bad 80s romantic comedy. I would be staring too, if it weren’t me. My ex is on his knees, blocking the stairwell and all the people trying to leave. I cross the hall quickly, trampling petals as I go. A trail of pink, delicate rose petals that draw my eye to … There are balloons filling the entire hallway when I exit my English and Composition class. And for that, I will never be able to thank you enough.Īs far as sisters go, you’re a keeper. We were shopping, and I told you about those characters as we flipped through clothing racks, and you made me feel like it was more than just a far-flung dream. I can still picture the exact moment I first told you that I was writing a book way back when. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.įor letting me spoil every book I ever write so that I can talk through it with you.

Inspire by Cora Carmack