April 20, 2003
Full of Light
My tears had time to dry before they came welling up again.
You know, it's hard being in love with somebody. It's hard trying to live with someone who needs personal space when all you want to do is share yours.
I don't want to talk about it, not when I've been angry and am still somewhat disillusioned about the whole affair. I'll give him Tuesday and Thursday and Sunday nights from now on, I promise.
Tomorrow is Monday, dear, and I was missing you this afternoon. Could I come, if I promised to play Morrowind contented and alone in the next room? I'll keep the bed warm, when I go, and I won't ask you to hold me when you come passing out at four a.m.
I shouldn't have to ask. Most times you do, most times. I can't ask for more when I don't see myself deserving of what I already recieve.
I'll ask, though, you know. I expect you to call tonight, however briefly. I'll ask and I'll examine too close the silence between wires, between Oxford and Hebron, your mouth and my ear.
I'll try not to care so much, I promise. I won't smother you, cover you. I can be happy alone.
I'm just so much happier with you.
But I'll take a task to my heart on those nights when your eyes betray you. I'll wait. I always do.
I'm still sniffling, head resting against your chest, pillowed on The Lucky Grey Shirt. The shirt you wore the night we first went out, the shirt you wear whenever I need luck or a proper hug.
"I just wish I could be this person you want me to be."
"But you are." I find my fingers digging into a cotton-rayon blend. "That's why I get so upset. Because you are what I want, what I wanted."
And I can learn. And I can wait. And I'm special in your eyes when they're full of light, and that will suffice.
astera at 8:57 p.m.