You come back and my whole life is filled with waiting again. Wading actually. Through all the nonsense and the lunches and the oral finals to get to when I can be with you. Waiting for all that to float past me like paper boats. But I question whether or I am a island anchored deeply enough. Or whether or not you want to be here.
I have to deal with the fact that I am not more important then two months rent in Tempe. Even though you would have me believe otherwise. No matter what I think I feel for you I cannot lead myself to believe that we are above our respective circumstances.
We are practically strangers. Or we're closer to each other then oxygen. There is an expiration date floating over our heads; we have very little time to figure this out, so could we just bask in it? I don't have anything to look forward after this.
I don't want to sit next to you on a couch, drinking beer, watching you and a friend play a video game. That video game is going to be around forever. You can play it a thousand times. I, on the other hand, am utterly limited and expendable and so are we. This will not be around forever.
I walked home and looked behind myself to see if you were at least watching me go. You couldn't even say you wanted me to stay, which is what I needed to hear the most. You said today
"Yeah, I know it's good to have space..." Well, first we had three weeks, and after this scant, privilage of a month together we will have whole lives seperating us. I don't want to waste my nights stomping through the night, crying, when you're still here.
It is amazing how close you can feel to someone. I sometimes feel like I am filling with whole planets. Whole worlds. How can I possibly feel lonely with so many populations swirling around and inside of me. It takes you being here to make me feel that full.
My old friend, Distance, always has my back. I know this. Others leave, but Distance is an endlss musketeer. Couldn't we please just fend him off a little longer?
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