If I ever push you away, I
don't really mean to. When I tell you, I don't want to talk about it,
I do. I am just looking for the
right words. Give me a minute, and if I can tell you, I will. I'll try to be a
struggling mix of real and perfect at the same time. At the moment, I am working on the ratio. When I get really quiet sometimes it is because I have
too much to say. I have thought of
too many things to tell you
all at once and I don't know what to say first. I get
immaturely jealous of anyone who
gets to see you on a
daily basis. I miss you really easy but I also like that
we can be apart and we are both okay. Space is good, too. I love the way we love some of the
same things. And I love how we love
entirely different things. My head is a
complicated pile of
thoughts, and
fears, and
cravings, and
dreams, and this
tangled up nostalgia for the
past and somehow, the
future. I am
flawed and I am
human and I am
broken and I am
trying. And i love you.
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