Yes, this is a language we are creating, sharing... what to make of it.
Confusion, yes. Always. Fear, yes. I am afraid, too. Not of what scared me before, but all new things.
Everything you write, I read, reread, read once more, hoping that I can know what you truly mean.
The L word, yes, old feelings, thoughts, emotions, always... There is so much to be said but can we really say it?
They say to stop. They say to just stop completely, but I don't care I do what I feel is best in this situation they don't know the situation.
You're confused. I don't know if you want me. Do you want me because you want me? Or do you want me because you're alone? Do you want me for me? I want you to want me for me.
I wish you didn't hate yourself. I wish you didn't hate your hair. I'm 20 cents richer...
Don't skip out. Please, don't skip out. You can do this. I know you can. Maybe my word doesn't mean as much, but I hope it means something.
I am troubled. Yes.
First off, I am troubled by cars honking at me when I walk to the library, I dislike that. But, I still walk.
I know the bar situation with us would be much better. Would you though? Talks. I want more of those. I want more of you. You're like an addiction. Am I an addiction?
Women ask rhetorical questions to get explanations... we are doing that here, aren't we?
What are we doing here?
What are you doing right now? I almost called you last night to ask you that very question... but I chose not to.
There is so much hurt. The trust, I fear you do not trust me. I feel like, with a mutual want and a lot of work, this could be something again, but it has to be mutual, and I don't think you want that. You are pulled in many different directions.
I am, too.
But, when I think about it, in the simplest terms, and the least amount of explanations, it becomes clear to me. It is still cloudy to you.
clouds. see the pyramids along the nile?
Nobody said it was easy. Some of the best things in life are worth fighting for.
Did it come yet? I am anxious, I wonder when it will come.
I want to keep writing but am I feeding?
My thoughts of us are burned into my mind. Your skin against mine, friction, sounds, tastes... the sounds... your breathing. When you're sleeping. When you're sighing. When you smile and I can feel it. Textures... all of it.
I love the way you used the word draped.
Last night at the baseball game some one was wearing your perfume and it was wrapping itself around my body, enclosing me in, all I could do was imagine you there and it was haunting me.
Maybe you are too stubborn. Maybe about all of those things. It is hard. I am not you. You are not me.
This is me. I am coming out from the clouds. I am becoming free. I fucking hate how much control other people's opinions and my own insecurities had over me. It ruined so many things and I am trying repair some of them.
Why did you unblock me? I miss some things too.
Do you really want me to let you go? Drop you? Leave? What do you want? I know what I want.
I want to see your face, face to face. I want to hear your voice.
I want to keep typing... but maybe I should stop for today.
