It has been two months since I woke up in your bed. Woke up happy, yes slightly hungover, but happy. It took all I had to pull myself out of there. I just wanted to stay but the amount I wanted to stay scared me deeply.
I wrote you a letter. I waited a week. Two weeks. Three weeks. Four weeks, then you called. You called. I wasn’t expecting you to but you did. We talked on the phone. We have talked on the phone a few times since.
I just want to know what you are thinking. In a genuine way. Why are you talking to me? I think you are incredible and I love where you want to go and what you are doing. I want to talk to you more. I want to get to the depths of your thoughts and see what resides there. I want to know your feelings.
I want to be in your life more than this, is that not fair to ask?
There are only 79 days until I graduate and can come home. Until there is a possibility of seeing you. You have become a fixation of sorts. Maybe I am using you to find solace in this crazy fucked up mess we call a world. But more than that I think I have been fascinated by you for almost four years and we are only just beginning to talk.
You catch me at the worst times, but you always make it better. I want to talk to you when I am good. When I am solid. But you never picked up when I call. I am going to keep trying until you tell me to stop because this is worth trying for. People give up on me too easily. I am going to be the first to stop giving up on me. I think it has to be me.
Please, next time, let me be more articulate. More calm, cool and collected.
And next time tell me something, Anything.