I'm crashing on another couch again tonight. If it's not theirs, it's this. It seems like I can't stay in one place, not even here where I have a home, or at least what is a room and a bed of my own. It's suffocating in there. I know it's warm, and I like it warm, but the lack of human interaction just bothers me now the way it never has before. Tell me what alone time was like again, because I don't remember.
I was birthing poetry in the shower earlier (in which I spent something like half an hour in because it was cold earlier in the day and my limbs were painted with sprouted goosebumps), tracing it into the misty glass doors in hope that it'll stay, at the very least, with me for a little longer. I think about the dream I had last night again, the one where we touched (although it was really just me leaning onto your chest and you holding onto me) and how right it felt. It feels like I'm new to all of this, even though I think I've done it before, but it feels just oh so right so I let it be and try not to think too much because I'm hoping that this time I'll be better than I ever have before and that we'll make it through.
I barely write about you the way I'd written about the others (albeit cryptically) last times. It isn't anything, except that for some reason, I find that this actually works so much better than all those fighting against my feelings which I'd done before. I don't know how this started, honestly, I don't, but it's like all I can do is feel and I think I'll follow that.
I'm glad I feel for you. What's better is you seem to do too, and that makes me smile inside. I can't wait to see you again.