I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. What else do you want me to say?

You're no prize yourself, you know? You're difficult to live with. You're uncooperative and stubborn. Sometimes, I think just to be contrary, when I say "left" you go right.

And you're constantly changing. Just when I think I have you figured out, you go and change on me. I can't plan a wardrobe, much less a life, around such inconsistencies! A woman needs stability.

Oh and hey, while we're on the subject of stability, what's with the spontaneous, unexplained crying jags? Don't they make pills for that or something? Then, when I get used to the bawling, you suddenly perk up and turn into Betty Frickin' Sunshine. Do I look like a yo-yo string to you? I don't know what gave you the impression I was into the up and down rides, baby. Pick an emotion and stick with it for a while longer than five minutes, would ya?

Still, we've had a good run, haven't we, you and me? We've had some fun. Yeah. I love you despite your many faults. I tolerate you and your stubborn death stranglehold on all those things I wish you'd let go of. The regret that sits like a planet on your shoulders. The guilt. This ridiculous obsession you have with the way you look and what others are thinking about the way you look and the way you wish you looked and -- honestly! Isn't that just exhausting? Wouldn't you just like to put that down for a while? Just a small little while?

You knew what you were getting into when you got me. You knew I was no picnic. Picnics are for squares. I realize you didn't get a choice, but neither did I, you know? We've made the best of it, though. We're making the best of it. We do what we do.

So, I'll re-make my promises, say my apologies. You'll do the same. We'll soothe things over and patch things up. Things will go back to good again. There will be good days. I'll keep my promises and hit the gym and cut out the soda and you'll be optimistic and let go of the guilt and knock off the cryin' for awhile. For a while.

Eventually, we'll find ourselves back here again. I'll break them all, you'll pick it all back up. It'll all go black. The days will turn bad. We'll start all over.

And that's good. That's okay. That's alright.

Because, hey, it beats the alternative, right?