Confusion. That is the word of the day. It is hard not to write back, I always want to write back, we have so much to say.
You're on skype, although I think you're logged in all the time, but still, you're there. I'm here.
You look good, you always do. It is nice to talk to you, it always is.
I'm glad you received the letter, really glad.
You... you you you. I just don't know. It is so hard. This is so hard. What are we doing? This does feel right, you're right. This feels like something but I am so cautious as well, I know you are afraid, I am nervous, I fear I say the wrong thing all the time, there are so many things I want to say... I feel like I am a secret now, but I feel like I deserve it.
I'm going to start school a week after I get home.. I want to go home now but I have to do this.
I'm relearning to knit. I'm writing, filling that book... I wonder if it will be full when I come home.
I could be vague I could be blunt. I could get stopped either way.
You're standing at the edge of the ocean, pawing at that rock, is it lust? is it l... you don't know. There is lust, this we know, but is there more to it? Is there more to us anymore? I want you to figure these things out, yes we do have those thoughts I can write a novel on them and I know you could as well, I'm not saying hop on the horse I'm saying don't leave the ranch, I'm saying...
what am I saying?
You're afraid. I'm afraid. We are both stubborn. We have traded places. This is different.
stay with me, you're all I see, just breathe, I'm an idiot. I know that. I am such a fuck up.
Your heart. You.
I wonder if I am allergic to bee stings, I hope I don't find out while I am here.
Fucked up dreams again last night, but with a twist.
I wish you were here. I try to sleep in just to get those few extra moments with you, the dream you seems so real...
this is where I feel vulnerable. But if I give up, then, well, it would be the worst thing I could do. You really are one in a million. I hope you know that.
You're smile.
God, Krystal, I just fucking miss you, and I don't care if everyone calls me an idiot for that.
Mix space, mix time, mix all the ingredients you can find, make the dish, I like your creations, do with it what you please, whatever is your flavor, throw it in the blender, freeze it, cook it, boil it, by all means... I don't know.
I'm horrible with metaphors. I miss when you recall a memory and it looks like you are digging through the filing cabinets in your mind.
Am I saying too much?
It is 3:35 here.
Vanessa wants to leave the library.
I hope you're not feeling bloated anymore...
