I'm Almost Enough

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Why did you have to be such a bitch, he thought.
He rubbed his eyes and starred out the slightly dirty car window. One traffic light made him squint, and he noticed its rays shining in four distinct directions. 
She didn’t have to be such an asshole at the end. But maybe she did. Maybe that’s how you make sure two people don’t try to linger as friends who secretly still want something.
He sipped some Mike's Hard Lemonade that his friend had left in his cupholder. It was warm. 
He was waiting for her to finish some fight with a bridezilla she'd run into in the bar. He wanted to fuck her, sort of. Not really. He was just sad and craving something tender.
He leaned his seat back fully and balled his eyes out. He felt his chest heave and ho as it always did with heavy sobs. 
But then it subsided, and he was back to a semi-depressed, semi-okay state of mind. The most common state in his adult life.
When had he lost his passion? he thought. Was it when he left the military? Was it when he took off the uniform that told him who he was?
He wasn't really sure. 
He wanted to pick his nose but wasn't sure if some rando would see it through his un-tinted windows. 
He sighed. 
His friend showed up. She was crying. He patted her back softly.
"Stop," she said. "You don't really care."
He sighed again. She was wrong. But he was tired of fighting people’s misjudgments. Endlessly defending himself and for what?
OMG I DO CARE
YOU DON'T CARE
okay...
now what?






He drove her home. She spilled all her problems from her heart until they were no longer hers alone. There was no room left for his. She didn’t have the bandwidth. He knew that.

So he didn’t share his problems.

He dropped her off. Took a gummy. Got into bed.

I am loved exactly as I am.
I am enough.
I am enough.

And he actually believed it just enough to fall asleep.

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