I so look forward to all the quiet moments.

Coming home from work and slipping into bed, putting my arm around him.
We just lay there without saying a word until the alarm clock tells him it’s time to get up.

In the car when there’s no talking, just music and the sound of the road and he puts his hand on my leg and lets it rest there until we get to where we’re going.

In the busy restaurant where people are squeezing and pushing past me and he put his arm around me, pulling me close, keeping his hand on my back.

It’s in all the unspoken moments, and gestures the glances and smiles and everything else.
I know I am his.

I love the way he looked at me today.
I could tell he was happy to see me.

I want to be that girl who moved at the beginning of September and created a blank slate. Who started over.
Even though she wasn’t as strong as I thought, she felt stronger then I am now.

I don’t cry on the floor of my living room anymore but I lay on my side wishing he would turn and put his arms around me and it feels the same.

I know it’s so simple.
The answer is obvious but even as I sit here thinking about it I still use my left hand to find the few remaining short hairs in my bangs and pull on them one at a time until they pop out.
In therapy last week I explained the process of how I decide which hair to pull and my therapist was fascinated by this.
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
I just want to stop.
I hate that it feels impossible.
My hair is completely trashed and I am so ashamed of the mess I made.
I feel bad for my boyfriend that he’s dating this overly anxious loser with bald spots.
It’s not what he signed up for.

So I’m going to stop.
After I hit post I will not let myself even touch my head.
Just thinking about it now makes me want to do it so bad.