Shoot me, I'm having an affair.

Where have you been? You asked.
Baby, I've always been here.
Believe not you seem,
that 'what the hell' look all over your face.
Suspicious of my every single movement and words.

Look. Look where?
Listen to me baby. No, I don't want to.
Can we talk this over rationally? Rationally huh?
Then tell me the truth now, I mean NOW.
It's definitely not what's you're thinking about alright,
'cause I know you doubted it all.
Oh. How do you know what when I didn't even mention it?

Something's wrong. Oh so wrong.
I have been busy with my works,
that you know matters a lot to me.
Do you not?
You mean like a lot of excuses so you can meet that cute chick over the street?
No. Please. Hear me out will you not?
Not.

How can I have something on going,
when all in my life;
is my works and you?
Didn't you always understand that;
sometimes my works requires a little more of me?

Your works or her? You questioned again.
What her?
You're the only her in this conversation.
Ok.
Since you think that I'm having an affair,
why don't you , go take that gun off the rack and,
shoot me;
because I'm having an affair with my art.



Note: Alright. So that's a stab at romance. But so what ? Aint part of it kinda true too? Just one entry for the fun of it. Bear with me.