i feel like i’m always counting months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds, backward and forward: the time that separates when i will see you next, when i get to kiss you on the mouth, when you get to hold me, when we will say hello, when i get to breathe in your scent, when we have to say goodbye, when you have to go, when i have to leave, it’s all… calculated. in my head. my mind runs numbers constantly but never adds them up, because all those numbers will amount to something, some allotted time for us to keep each other close, physically at least, because there are no barriers to how much you are with me and, i hope, that i am with you. it’s distressing but i love you and i’m scared and anxious but believe that you and i have something that can withstand any test of time and of distance. i feel both extremities, the lightness of being with you and the heaviness of our worlds, and how they should coincide in the ways possible. but what i have now, i will make the best of; the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months i have with you, i will never take for granted.
mornings.
he is so unbelievably cute even when he’s not trying to be. with winter break coming to an end, everything feels so incredibly bittersweet: i’ve spent almost every day with him and i’ve become so accustomed to the opportunity of kissing him or letting him hold me, or all those moments in my car, cruising down the city streets, just the two of us, windows down and music up with his hand curled around my leg. all the nights of just sitting in his driveway before our goodbyes, always prolonged, because enough is never enough, and we’re always trying to collect time and hold onto it. it’s bittersweet. i was thinking about it at the time, when i was out searching for his christmas present, i thought, how appropriate, because it always comes back to this in one way or another. i wrote this one night when i couldn’t sleep and kept it on private:
