I’m writing this in the hopes that its publication will give me a starting point from which to move on, but at the same time I’m not so sure I want to.
I try to convince myself that the timing of our meeting wasn’t right, or that you’ve never felt the way I do, but I never can quite believe these. At this point there are any number of reasons to give up on you, but I can never bring myself to do it. Any tiny glimmer of hope for us keeps me going.
Fuck distance, fuck circumstance; all I want is what we had that one night – except this time you won’t move halfway across the country three weeks later. You’ll stay here, we’ll get to know each other properly, we’ll listen to The Doors and write together and paint and draw, and you’ll be my inspiration. We’ll stay up late talking about anything and everything and we’ll drink wine until my eyes can only focus on you. When we run out, you’ll rest your sleepy head in my lap and I’ll stay awake so I can see how beautiful you are when you sleep. Wait, scratch that – you’re beautiful all the time.
These scenarios make me hopeful but they also make me terribly sad.. Because I know that they will probably never happen again.
I don’t know if you feel anything like this towards me. But the last time I saw you I felt like you were holding something back. All I wanna do is tell you all this but I’m scared that you don’t feel the same and that my fantasy is gonna come crashing down…
Fuck. I don’t know what to do.