Being abrupt

I think your band is vulgar.
I think you were showing weakness when you got up so quickly to hug me, you did it because you knew I was annoyed.
Perhaps we could have had a second chance but you never called me.
Why would you bother even going to that show when you knew I would be there, when I loved them probably before you ever did, not that you would know that. How classy of you to be so friendly with my friends and cousin and let Ferrari or whatever that bartenders name was make me "whatever the lady would like." How classless of me to lean over the bar and pronounce giddily "a root beer minderaser would suit me just fine." I was so irritated to see you riding a bike home, it makes me think you had a DUI or something. Again, I think your band is vulgar and disgusting and not that funny. I felt so stupid getting you and Oldtimer mixed up. We never would have gone to Burt's had I known they were playing and that you would be there, cross my heart. I felt obnoxious wearing that dress, or "gown." I felt so out of place, who could imagine? Out of place in my own damn bar. I swear I went there before you ever did but I know that can't possibly be true. I went upstairs to sit in the chair I usually read fortunes in. I forgot my cards that night. It was a rookie mistake, I should've known better.
I certainly looked the part. Hair braided and pinned up with small wildflowers. My breasts felt so full and round, and looked even better in that gown. Who wears a gown to a punk show? I don't know, certainly not me! I was a victim of dyslexia while reading SLUG. Regardless, while I was practically passed out alone upstairs in the gypsy witch office chair, you and my cousin were out back talking about what a "big misunderstanding" it all was and how the entire ride home Bre and I listened to Summer Camp and I just kept telling her how totally full of manure you were. How maybe, in hindsight, you made a huge mistake and yet you have done nothing to rectify it. So don't you dare cry wolf and then act like I'm not going to show up axe in hand. You had every opportunity to tell me this yourself and you didn't. And maybe I don't have time to wonder about you anymore because I probably never really liked you in the first place. But it wasn't fair of you to rob me of the opportunity to see if I even felt something. I told you, I just wanted you to hear my Rodney Dangerfield record, not spend the fucking night (or spend the night fucking, whatever). I'm just saying, for someone who can get up on stage in gold spandex and pull his dick out and talk about the most vile things into a crowd of people, was I really more terrifying than that? How dare you talk about wanting to see me again, I'm upstairs practically faint and you are standing outside with the smokers and you don't smoke! I'll be rudely cold shouldering you for ever now. Throwing glances and rarely speaking to you until Burt's closes down or one of us moves away (and I'll tell you right now, it won't be me). Spare me your "misunderstood" feelings, you had time and you let it tick off and wind down. I'm not waiting for anyone now, you either are or you aren't. You either will or you won't. Of course someday you will regret this, more than you ever will now. You'll be like the man in the Shel Silverstein poem, the one who freezes his dreams. When he becomes an old cold man he will heat them up and soak his feet and remember the glory days. You wouldn't need to freeze your dream if your dream was holding your hand, if your dream loved you.