It’s better to have nobody than someone who is half there, or who doesn’t want to be there.
I think about you. But I don’t say it anymore.
It’s great how I’ve only known you for 5 days and I’ve felt closer to you than I’ve felt with people I’ve known for years, but you’re freaken like 3,030 miles away. What a bumnugget. This is pretty upsetting.
I don’t have a fear of commitment. I have a fear of abandonment. We all screw things up. I screw things up, especially with people I love. I get needy, I get moody, I get distant, I want to be close, I get confused. I don’t understand all of it, but I keep pushing because I hope this thing, this universe, there’s no way that I’m the only person out there who wants something this bad, if I want it, someone else out there must too.
I am jealous of your bedsheets — the ones you wrap yourself in over and over when you are unreasonably cold for the season. I am jealous of the people who get to pass by you in the metro and who will never know your name. They don’t know that they are lucky, that their shoulders touch someone wonderful.