Sometimes I should just stop.
Get off the roller coaster and look around.
I should grasp how fleeting this all is, beyond the worn out clichés and hallmark sentimentality. If I'm lucky I may have what? Three years? Two?
Until he realizes time could be better spent. Until he finally gets it — that I'm not all that interesting…
When I get tired or annoyed this is what I should do. Stop.
And realize how damn soon it'll all be over.