Jun 2010
Mine,
If you ever worry that you are smothering me, that’s alright, I worry the same thing. I worry that one day you will become too much for me and I will need to detach. I rarely worry that I am smothering you; I suppose the irony in that ending is too sad for me to believe it would happen.
But also know that my worry of suffocation becomes less and less and less and less and less as our time passes. I love your hands on my body and your breath on my skin. I enjoy your presence in my room when we are not touching. I like to think that sometimes you are thinking of me at the same time that I am thinking of you when we are separated by countless little towns and a few long hours.
I also shake my head at my over-poetic dramatics. Would you truly overwhelm me, wrap me past the point of warmth and comfort, remove my oxygen, leave me kicking and gasping? How could either of us let it get to that point? If I am uncomfortable, I stretch, I rearrange my body, I lie back down next to you. If you sense I am unhappy, you shuffle yourself around, you ask if I’m more comfortable now.
We need this honesty. There is nothing worse than two people, each lonely without the other, sitting alone because each thinks it’s what the other wants.
Yours.
If you ever worry that you are smothering me, that’s alright, I worry the same thing. I worry that one day you will become too much for me and I will need to detach. I rarely worry that I am smothering you; I suppose the irony in that ending is too sad for me to believe it would happen.
But also know that my worry of suffocation becomes less and less and less and less and less as our time passes. I love your hands on my body and your breath on my skin. I enjoy your presence in my room when we are not touching. I like to think that sometimes you are thinking of me at the same time that I am thinking of you when we are separated by countless little towns and a few long hours.
I also shake my head at my over-poetic dramatics. Would you truly overwhelm me, wrap me past the point of warmth and comfort, remove my oxygen, leave me kicking and gasping? How could either of us let it get to that point? If I am uncomfortable, I stretch, I rearrange my body, I lie back down next to you. If you sense I am unhappy, you shuffle yourself around, you ask if I’m more comfortable now.
We need this honesty. There is nothing worse than two people, each lonely without the other, sitting alone because each thinks it’s what the other wants.
Yours.
