Writing

I'm trying not to write you quite so much these days. It's never been clear to me how… healthy it is. It's been a good outlet, to be sure. I can't actually tell you how I feel, not yet anyways. But the feelings are still there. Always. So, putting pen to paper (well, thumbs to screen) is… nice. An outlet, as I said. A pressure release valve. But, still. A bit much sometimes. A bit obsessive, sometimes. Doesn't really matter if you read them or not (and I do hope you will, someday). I wonder a bit if writing these things is just indulging myself in a way that may not be the best for me.

So. I'm trying not to write quite so much. You probably can't tell, lol.

But that doesn't mean the intensity of these feelings has diminished at all. It hasn't. Just the opposite. Every time I see you, I fall more deeply. Every time I talk to you, it's not enough. As I wrote a few months ago, there seems to be a ratchet, allowing my feelings for you to only move in one direction: Stronger. Deeper.

I don't know how this is going to play out. I don't know where it will end. I hope it ends with you in my arms, us getting lost in each other's eyes. Lips finally finding each other, with an intensity that threatens to bend the universe. Hands, eagerly exploring. Hearts finally entwined… as it seems they were meant to be.

Until then, I'm going to enjoy every moment I get with you. Every end-of-the-driveway chat. Every little text, no matter how mundane. Those other texts, much fewer and far between, where one or the other of us admits maybe a bit more than we meant to… or… perhaps… exactly as much as we meant to. All of the little moments. Watching you train your dog. Everything. Everything.

Yours, always.