Don’t fall in love with me. It would be a mistake. To start with, I’m not a good person; I drink too much and work too little. I can barely cook a meal, even when I try my hardest. I’ve flabby arms and legs. And my eyes are a nonsensical shade of blue. Not quite cold, not quite warm. Like melting ice. You’d say you love them though, and they’d no longer be my eyes. They’d be yours. That could be nice.
No. Inevitably, we’d break up leaving my eyes as cruel reminders of nicer times. I’d get depressed. I’d wear black clothes for mourning, and listen to love songs half-ironically. Of course, photographs of us would have to be burnt, and the ashes spread where they were taken. Too dramatic for you, but I’ve always thrived on melodrama. Inspired, I’d write a bunch of bestselling romance novels, and make my fortune.
Maybe you should fall in love with me. Just for a laugh. We could love each other satirically. Plan the breakup from the start; the exact time and date of it all. You choose the friends you’ll keep and I’ll choose mine. Immediately divide up our belongings. I’ll take the best knives out of spite. You can have the dog. I’ve never wanted one anyway.
We’d live absurdly and never be hurt by the other. I mean it was always going to end anyway. We could do anything because we’d know we weren’t breaking up until the set date. I’m sure you’d cheat on me and I’d cheat on you, but it wouldn’t matter. So it wouldn’t hurt.
That’s a lie. It already hurts and it hasn’t even happened yet. But you could prevent it. Don’t fall in love with me. Please.
Daniel Guy Baldwin is a writer currently living in Newcastle-Under-Lyme, a Philosophy graduate from Keele University and trying his best to write meaningful fiction with varying degrees of success.