The Prettiest Star

If this had all happened a few years earlier, things might have been different, and I think we both know it.
The sun is setting but the warmth's still there, and I rub sand into my feet as we look out to the water.

Sometimes I want to tell him that he's a prick. He admits it, though. The barbs of an accusation are removed if you readily admit your faults before anyone else can take a swing.

I don't think he really means it though. Well, he means to get there before everyone else does, but he doesn't believe he's a prick, in a way. He does, but he's so proud of it, that he doesn't really. He's a prick that everyone loves. People can't love a real asshole, surely.

And that's exactly why I don't love him.
"You're the least honest person I know."
He scoffs at this, brushing his hair out of his face.
"Bullshit. You're not even honest with yourself."
I laugh at this, letting sand slide through my fingers.
"Me? I'm not honest with myself?"
A noise of disgust comes out of his mouth,
"You haven't been doing what you've wanted for the last 5 years." He's getting annoyed now.
I sigh and look out to the horizon once more. The sun is setting and the sky is pink. Shepherd's delight.
"Paul, you have no idea what I want," I can't help but smile a little as I turn to look at him. I'm not sure why. Maybe I've finally escaped his grasp.
"You project your own life, your own experiences on to me constantly. You think you're never wrong because you twist everything to fit your own world view. You're full of shit."
"Fuck you," he spits back and he hoists himself up and lumbers up the sand dunes.

I turn my eyes back to the water and feel surprisingly content.