Hung Up On You

Lying on the floor, yelling at the ceiling is not usually how I spend my Saturday nights. Most nights, I'm getting trashed at the nearest house party, dancing with my friends and the strangers that look like them at some club. Definitely not screaming my feelings at the popcorn beige above my head.

But, then again, most of the last month has not been my usual.

Ever since that Friday night, the night I first saw you and your sparkly everything, I've been so out of whack that I can't even think straight, even when I'm sober.

Before that night, I was me; I was the crazy party monster that always had a red cup in his hand and a girl on his arm. I was always texting random girls, hooking up with whoever was closest at the end of the night.

But now? Now, I'm sober me. No more red cups, no more random chicks, no more hookups. Now, I'm awake during the day, talking to you nonstop, and asleep at night. I've gone to maybe three parties in the last few weeks and everyone's asking what happened, where I am and if I'm still alive. But, honestly, I don't have any idea what happened.

One second, I just wanted to party, dance ‘til sunrise and drink myself into oblivion. But then the next second, I saw you and heard your voice and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be in your arms, walking off into the sunset. That surprised me the most. The fact that one face, one simple hello was all it took to bring me back down to Earth. Suddenly, oblivion didn't seem so great.

But why? I went for so long with just oblivion, just drunken slurs and one night stands, and all of a sudden that's not enough? What did you do to me?

Screaming that question, over and over again, at my ceiling seemed to be the way to get my answer. Once I'd downed a few drinks on my own, that is.

But, of course, I wasn't getting anything. Nothing but a sore back and droopy eyes and yells from the people living in the apartment above me.

And then, as usual, you walk in the room at just the right time. Just as I'm yelling my thoughts, you've strutted in with two grocery bags in one hand and a duffle bag in the other.

"What the fuck did you fucking do to me?" I screamed with extra enthusiasm.

"What the fuck did who fucking do to you?" You asked, one eyebrow raised and smirk on your lips.

"You. You've fucked me up, Jen."