“…And then we’ll both feel different”
- Wild Child “Expectations”

How does it all come rushing back like it never stopped? How do I feel consumed by the desire to message you? And talk to you? And taste you on my lips so sweetly. I want to get stuck on the couch because you fell asleep laying across my lap.

We barely talked for an evening and I find myself finding reasons to talk to you. More than ever, I don't want to talk. I want to sit and listen and hear your thoughts. Mine have become so loud that I seek respite in the love of another. I can only hug myself so much before the illusion fades and the dream turns into a waking reality. I want to know what you're doing, where you are, what's on your mind. Not to control and conquer, but for me to appreciate the view.

I've written about you more than I thought I would. I've thought about you more than I probably should. But I find it difficult to really pinpoint the bad times. I caused so much of it all: the stress, the anxiety, the paranoia, the distrust. I projected many of my own issues and struggles onto our relationship that it couldn't possibly bear the weight.

I'm still learning how to vocalize and communicate effectively. I'm still shit at it, but I’m fuckin trying at least. And that's more than I've been able to say for many years. I miss you and my longing worries me.

I worry that starting something would mean starting again. There wouldn't be a half-step. I'm not so sure I could be only friends with you. Maybe we've both changed so much that that's not even a reality anymore. I don't believe that in my heart of hearts. The flame has already flared back to life.