And so it starts. I made it 2 months without writing about you. That’s pretty good. I thought probably that meant that I wouldn’t write about you. But of course, I’m full of emotion now … and so it goes.
I still haven’t figured out if I like you. Or if I like that you like me. I like that you’re a little needy and that you don’t hold back what you’re feeling. It’s different than him. The him I’ve been writing about for over a year now. He’s needy but not for me. I wanted to be his need. I wanted him to crave my attention like I craved his but it never worked that way. It still doesn’t.
Interesting how I started writing about you and stopped writing about him. Maybe that’s my answer. I like that you need me. I like that you tell me you need me. I like that you like to play around in fantasy land with me. You don’t tell me I’m being crazy or that those things will never happen.
You listen. omg you listen. And you ask questions. And you let me interrupt you, even when I have nothing good to say. And you look at me. You look at me like I’m new and beautiful and that you’ve never seen anything like me before. You explore me and you try so damn hard to make me happy. I have a feeling that you wouldn’t been like that forever — that you won’t be like this for long, but for now, I fucking love it.
I love being crazy and uncensored and fun with you. I get scared when I feel like your enthusiasm is waning because I crave it now. I crave the compliments and the listening and the texts about your feelings. I crave the talks about all the things you want to do someday — moving to Maine, and building a library and traveling the world with me.
The real part of me knows that it will never happen but the rest of me eats it up. I love our sandy tent world.