The last thing I ever expected
He asked me to be his girlfriend
I said yes

Do either of us know how to be a girlfriend and a boyfriend
Or does that even matter

I'm a secret of the night
He sneaks out of someplace after dark to sneak into me

He sneaks out of me at daylight and sneaks back to someplace else

How long will I or can I be a secret of the night
That's a secret he keeps from me

The hardest part of my day
Watching him get up, get dressed, and go
He says he'll be back
I want to believe him
I really want to believe him
I hate that I really want to believe him

So far he's always come back
The best part of my day

Will he ever not have to get up, get dressed, and go
I hope so
Is he selling me a beautiful pack of lies
I hope not

What will it be like when he doesn't have to go
Even more exciting than it is now
I hope so

For now though
The second hardest part of my day
Wondering if he'll be back

Words can't express the emptiness that is hopelessness. It's something that you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy's worst enemy.

Wait, your worst enemy's worst enemy would probably be a really good friend to have. Then you could sit around together and plot ways to **** with your common enemy's head.

Like sneaking into their house every day and emptying all the bottles of shampoo. Not the conditioner. Not the body wash or shower gel. Just the shampoo. Every day. Every bottle. No matter how many bottles they buy to replace the ones you've wasted. All the shampoo gone. Just gone. Every day.

Try and imagine what lengths they would go to trying to find out what happened to all the **** shampoo. Four empty bottles sitting right where they'd been placed when they were full, now without a drop of hope of being able to wash, rinse, and repeat.

No hope of being able to lather up and wash away the built-up residue of the day's grimy, polluted, filth infested air breathed out by the uncaring populous that attached itself from the follicle to the unsplit end of every perfectly thick and just right wavy hair on your worst enemy's head.

Maybe they'll lose sleep over it and then have dark rings around the bulbous bags under their usually twinkling and happy hazel eyes for a day or two. All the time just wondering what in the hell happened to all the **** shampoo.

Anyway, if you can't find the words to express hopelessness, at least maybe you can find someone with a common enemy to sit around with and think of ways to try and fill the emptiness.

Unconditional love:

1. noun; when you willingly pay the consequences for the actions of the one you love at the expense of your very existence without even knowing if he understands or can appreciate just how much those consequences have cost you;

(I wonder if you can get a second mortgage on your soul?)

also, 2. when you're able to smile at him even as you watch him take the left-over pieces of memories from your garage-sale of a life and put them in another woman's home, while the time that was supposed to be your final treasured moments and/or memories together, melts away like yesterday's makeup oozes down my clammy face on an unusually humid Palm Springs summer morning. And, even though you knew this was coming, and you tried and tried to warn him, you just smile and wonder in which bloated bag of odd but familiar, priceless knick-knacks your heart ended up in and hope he recognizes it if he ever accidentally runs across it.

(Today I learned the definition of unconditional love.)