Tears of the Broken Hearted.

Very well, Dear Reader, it's still freaking raining. Yesterday, I sat around my apartment staring at the walls, listening to Iggy Pop and Molotov, and smoked a joint. I worked out a little. But my day culminated in fixing the perfect dinner for me and my good friend Alfredo. I held nothing back; I made tortellini in red sauce with a fresh green salad. I roasted French bread with garlic and opened a bottle of wine. Everything was perfect. My dinner table was set. It looked like a table reserved at the restaurant in the Waldorf Astoria. I even lit freakin' candles. Seven thirty came around and there was a knock on my door. Sweet Alfredo is always on time. I swung the door open. There Alfredo stood with his wife. And she was holding a bag of tacos. I smiled the fakest smile I could muster. She held out the dripping bag, "Are you hungry?" "Well, I made pasta, Veronica." I spit out the name through clenched teeth. I glared at Alfredo who sheepishly smiled back. "Veronica was waiting for me when I got of work. So I hope you don't mind that I invited her over." He said. "No. Not at all." I breathed. I grabbed an extra plate from the kitchen and placed it down on the table so hard it was a miracle I didn't break it. I had become Jack's raging bile. Throughout the dinner, few words were said and I sat there casually laughing at her jokes and pretended to be interested in what she said. Alfredo would reach over at intervals and casually stroke her hand. Death! Death where is thou sting?! After we had finished the meal I had prepared, Alfredo took out the tacos Veronica had bought and started to eat them. I poked at mine with a fork. Blondie wailed over the radio with Heart of Glass. I had a glorious vision of tying Alfredo and Veronica both naked to a tree and shooting flaming arrows at them. Ugh. Why? Why do I set myself up for these tragedies? Will I ever find my soul mate...or is he lost forever in a faded memory of a life that ended in me losing my mind? Is this it? Is this the homosexual lifestyle that I had chosen mired in bitter tragedy and sad heartbroken loss to be played over again and again and again and again like a terrible late night infomercial? Luckily, after they had finished eating, Alfredo and Veronica left saying that the weather was terrible and they had to get home early. I walked them to the door and we said our goodbyes. I cleaned the dishes and took a shower to wash the stink of that woman off of me. I laid down in my bed and, Dear Reader, for the first time in eleven years I silently cried myself to sleep.