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Description
You were the one that needed concrete details opposed to the abstractions that she lived for. You needed material items, when all she wanted was words and sounds and feelings. You went out and bought sports cars, nice chairs, and big screen televisions while she sat on the front porch waiting for you to get home. She was happy just sitting there, without a chair, bathed in sunlight while the birds sang. She formed words into poems and songs, losing them in the wind. You weren’t happy unless you were sitting in a large brown leather chair -bought at the Ethan Allen that was a half hour drive in your 2004 Jag’- watching some television show about people that you strived to live like.

She wondered how you’d become like this. She could remember a time when you were content with sitting in the grass, playing your battered guitar, singing songs that got lost in the blowing leaves. You claimed that those were foolish times, and that you needed some permanence in your life. You needed things that you could touch, things to become attached to.

She asked what had happened to the permanence that happiness offered you, and you said that only money could make you happy. She asked if you were still attached to her and you got distracted by a commercial with singing dogs. She went to bed crying that night as you sat up, smoking your Cuban cigar, drinking your Vodka, watching another pointless television show. You wouldn’t even get up to go to bed; you’d just wake up in your big leather chair, shower, put on your Chino’s and drive yourself to work.

After a full day of making money, you would go spend it. It was water in your hands, and it was all yours. You spent it on new cloths; cloths that everyone said were the ‘new thing to wear this year’. You thought about buying a newer, faster, sportier car, then decided to wait until something even better came out next month. You bought a new stereo system for the house, more DVD’s to take up space in the new CD/DVD/book shelf-desk combo that you bought to go with the new Compact desk-top computer that you needed now that you had the latest Digital Camera that everyone was talking about. You bought and bought and bought, sliding that plastic card’s magnetic strip until it didn’t know North from South.

She sat at home, pen to paper, writing down the poems that she could remember telling the squirrels while she fed them in the back yard. She talked to her editor on the cell phone that you had bought her, the Nextel flip phone that she hated because you insisted on beeping her to tell her you were on your way home with lots of great stuff instead of just waiting until you were home to show her. She hated how you wasted words, she hated that even more than the way you wasted money. You told her to put on some of her favorite music, and she tried to tell you that she enjoyed the simple sounds of nature opposed to the trash rock you insisted would inspire her.

You came home with all of the things that you bought, excited to put all of your new stuff together and she just stared. Asked you when you became so obsessed with buying things, says that you’re way too in love with material possessions; that you need to take a good look at all your vices. You just laugh at her, tell her that she should take the credit card for a slide, take your car out for a drive, and buy herself something nice. You suggests a laptop to keep all of her writing on, do away with that pen and paper! Or maybe a palm-pilot so she could organize her schedule. She shakes her head, asking when you changed so much.

You raised your voice, fought with her, told her that it’s stuff that you need, stuff that she should want. She should be happy that you can afford to buy such nice things, that everyone would be envious. She shook her fist, asked who ‘everyone’ was and why they would care about any of that junk. You told her to stop acting so innocent, she told you to try to be honest with yourself, that you don’t even know yourself anymore! That you’re so wrapped up in all of your perspectives and possessions. You shook your fist, told her to stop pretending that none of this means nothing to her. You told her that she needs things too. That she can’t live without his money or his stereo system or his big screen TV!

She suddenly smiled, and went inside. You think that you’ve won, so you begin to unload your new computer desk. You know that she needs you and your petty things; that she can’t be without you. You liked being needed for your things. You liked needing your things. Just liked your things needing you. Things that sit on lonely warehouse shelves until you need them. You buy them, take them home, and love them. Things need love, and you need things. It makes perfect sense to you. You wondered if she finally is seeing your way.

She walked back outside, a paper shopping bag in hand. The bag contains her notebooks, wallet, and pens. She decided to throw the cell phone in at last minute, just so she could keep in touch with her editor. She smiles at you again, then walks down the sidewalk.

You ran over to her, asking where she was going. She tells you that she liked it when you needed her and her poems and your guitar. She liked it when you didn’t buy things or care if your cell phone had a color screen or not. She says that you don’t know your own weaknesses anymore, and that she doesn’t need things like you do. She tells you that you can’t have it both ways, and that there’s no room in the house for her anymore, that her place has been taken up by a large CD and DVD tower. She says she knows that you’ll never be happy, and that fact is comforting to her.

As she walks away, and you’re not sure if you just lost something important or not. You shrug your shoulders, a nagging in the back of your mind telling you that you should care. You turn around and go back to unpacking your new flat screen computer. You think, it’s just as well.

Description
You were the one that needed concrete details opposed to the abstractions that she lived for. You needed material items, when all she wanted was words and sounds and feelings. You went out and bought sports cars, nice chairs, and big screen televisions while she sat on the front porch waiting for you to get home. She was happy just sitting there, without a chair, bathed in sunlight while the birds sang. She formed words into poems and songs, losing them in the wind. You weren’t happy unless you were sitting in a large brown leather chair -bought at the Ethan Allen that was a half hour drive in your 2004 Jag’- watching some television show about people that you strived to live like.

She wondered how you’d become like this. She could remember a time when you were content with sitting in the grass, playing your battered guitar, singing songs that got lost in the blowing leaves. You claimed that those were foolish times, and that you needed some permanence in your life. You needed things that you could touch, things to become attached to.

She asked what had happened to the permanence that happiness offered you, and you said that only money could make you happy. She asked if you were still attached to her and you got distracted by a commercial with singing dogs. She went to bed crying that night as you sat up, smoking your Cuban cigar, drinking your Vodka, watching another pointless television show. You wouldn’t even get up to go to bed; you’d just wake up in your big leather chair, shower, put on your Chino’s and drive yourself to work.

After a full day of making money, you would go spend it. It was water in your hands, and it was all yours. You spent it on new cloths; cloths that everyone said were the ‘new thing to wear this year’. You thought about buying a newer, faster, sportier car, then decided to wait until something even better came out next month. You bought a new stereo system for the house, more DVD’s to take up space in the new CD/DVD/book shelf-desk combo that you bought to go with the new Compact desk-top computer that you needed now that you had the latest Digital Camera that everyone was talking about. You bought and bought and bought, sliding that plastic card’s magnetic strip until it didn’t know North from South.

She sat at home, pen to paper, writing down the poems that she could remember telling the squirrels while she fed them in the back yard. She talked to her editor on the cell phone that you had bought her, the Nextel flip phone that she hated because you insisted on beeping her to tell her you were on your way home with lots of great stuff instead of just waiting until you were home to show her. She hated how you wasted words, she hated that even more than the way you wasted money. You told her to put on some of her favorite music, and she tried to tell you that she enjoyed the simple sounds of nature opposed to the trash rock you insisted would inspire her.

You came home with all of the things that you bought, excited to put all of your new stuff together and she just stared. Asked you when you became so obsessed with buying things, says that you’re way too in love with material possessions; that you need to take a good look at all your vices. You just laugh at her, tell her that she should take the credit card for a slide, take your car out for a drive, and buy herself something nice. You suggests a laptop to keep all of her writing on, do away with that pen and paper! Or maybe a palm-pilot so she could organize her schedule. She shakes her head, asking when you changed so much.

You raised your voice, fought with her, told her that it’s stuff that you need, stuff that she should want. She should be happy that you can afford to buy such nice things, that everyone would be envious. She shook her fist, asked who ‘everyone’ was and why they would care about any of that junk. You told her to stop acting so innocent, she told you to try to be honest with yourself, that you don’t even know yourself anymore! That you’re so wrapped up in all of your perspectives and possessions. You shook your fist, told her to stop pretending that none of this means nothing to her. You told her that she needs things too. That she can’t live without his money or his stereo system or his big screen TV!

She suddenly smiled, and went inside. You think that you’ve won, so you begin to unload your new computer desk. You know that she needs you and your petty things; that she can’t be without you. You liked being needed for your things. You liked needing your things. Just liked your things needing you. Things that sit on lonely warehouse shelves until you need them. You buy them, take them home, and love them. Things need love, and you need things. It makes perfect sense to you. You wondered if she finally is seeing your way.

She walked back outside, a paper shopping bag in hand. The bag contains her notebooks, wallet, and pens. She decided to throw the cell phone in at last minute, just so she could keep in touch with her editor. She smiles at you again, then walks down the sidewalk.

You ran over to her, asking where she was going. She tells you that she liked it when you needed her and her poems and your guitar. She liked it when you didn’t buy things or care if your cell phone had a color screen or not. She says that you don’t know your own weaknesses anymore, and that she doesn’t need things like you do. She tells you that you can’t have it both ways, and that there’s no room in the house for her anymore, that her place has been taken up by a large CD and DVD tower. She says she knows that you’ll never be happy, and that fact is comforting to her.

As she walks away, and you’re not sure if you just lost something important or not. You shrug your shoulders, a nagging in the back of your mind telling you that you should care. You turn around and go back to unpacking your new flat screen computer. You think, it’s just as well.