Oh, Sawyer, you saccharine fool.
You're really in it now, aren't you?
It's intoxicating, really.
I... Worry.
I labelled myself as looking for something casual because I was afraid of what a relationship might entail. I worried that I could not keep with the pace of the tide, and that I might be washed out among someone who wasn't as interested as I was. Much of my life, I've had to downplay myself and be "more palatable" by calming my attitude.
I wonder how much of myself I have lost in doing that. How much I've let fade out of me by trying to please other people.
The constant worry holds my head — I hope they know I love them. I hope they know. I'm aware they hear it. That they read it.
But I hope they know.
I hope that I express myself eloquently enough, even on nights like this, when I don't feel well. When my head is pounding, my sinuses throbbing, unable to make sense of making an actual conversation with anyone — I hope they understand that I love deeply and truly.
I think the end of a friendship has marked a new type of fear for me. It's the kind that makes me terrified of not responding back right away. It makes me face the mortifying idea that, maybe, they'll think I'm ignoring them. That maybe they'll think I don't care.
That I don't let them occupy most of my thought, thinking about how peaceful it was just sitting in the quiet of that hotel room, bathed in their scent. The rhythmic rise and fall of their breathing as they fell asleep so easily in my arms. The way they complain about sticky and sweaty palms, yet this so human trait has me even more obsessed. It's human. It's beautiful. I can't get it out of my head.
I wish my head were clearer. I wish it didn't ache and burn. I wish I could say a sky's worth of love and affections and ensure that I want to be around for as long as possible. I wish I wasn't so exhausted.
I love them.
I love them with everything I have.
