penis

He only posts on Snapchat when he’s lonely

He only posts on Snapchat when he’s lonely. When he’s trying to entertain himself, stay busy, find meaning, find a connection: a beautiful flower worth sharing, a baked food that filled three hours of Sunday, a bird in the park: craving a little more, a little more connection, filling time, but not filled out, searching for meaning, flipping the page in the calendar I gave him to reveal a new pic, he only posts on Snapchat when he’s lonely. 

penis

I’d actually be pretty okay

I’m starting to feel like it’s a little extreme to never talk again just because, oh, I don’t know, we just decided we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives together. We should probably be able to throw in a concert or a hug here or there, without disrupting the rest of our lives. In the meantime, I’ll probably fill in the rest of my life with lots of other people, some better company, many worse. And honestly, we don’t know how long the rest of our lives will be. If it’s a day, I’d actually be pretty okay with spending mine with you. 

penis

Emotional incompatibility 

We’d go to sleep, drunk and bickering, over and over again. I’d wake up first, anxiety fueled by the night prior’s duel, over and over again. I’d seek action, activity, anything to funnel my nervous energy into until he funneled his into open lids. I’d tip toe out of the room, out of the house. I’d dash to the store, sprinting down the street, pausing only to look both ways to cross the street, and scramble to find eggs, or flour, or fruit. I’d quietly whisk, dip, and flip a French Toast breakfast in bed. He’d awake without a care in the world.