i was just showing my mom how to paste something into her text message on her phone and i was like “double tap in the the text box” “the text box” “the text box” and she was just pointing to random places on her screen that weren’t the text box and all i could think of was
A Mom went to have dinner with her son who lives with his roommate.
During the course of the meal, his mother couldn’t help but notice how handsome his roommate was. She had been suspicious about her sons sexuality but being a good mother she felt that he would let her know if and when the time was right but seeing the two together just made her more curious.
Over the course of the evening, while watching the interaction between the two she wondered even more if there was more here than meets the eye. Her son, sensing his mothers watchfully eye volunteered, “really Mom, I can tell what you’re thinking and you can just get it out of your mind, we are just roommates and nothing more”.
About a week later the roommate remarked, “ever since your mother was here the silver serving platter has been missing, do you think she took it?”
He responded, “Well I’m sure she didn’t but I will email her and ask just to be sure” he sat down and wrote:
I’m not saying you did take the silver platter from the house and I am not saying you didn’t take it but the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.
A couple days later he got a response from his mother:
I am not saying that you do sleep with your roommate and I am not saying that you don’t sleep with him and you know I love you and could care less either way but the fact remains that if he was sleeping in his own bed he would have found the platter under his pillow.
When are the two of you coming for dinner?
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came she back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.”
It’s not that I don’t love you. (via extrasad)