More than a year later and I still find myself playing the same games.  Still running away from what makes my heart feel heavy and running towards the comfort that seems a little safer.  I did not know why I was up late on Saturday; it was my one night to sleep fully and sweetly this week.  I did not know why I was crying.  I know that I have made sacrifices, but I also know that he loves me; this man of three years, truly does cherish my company.

I watched a movie with scenes that can only be replayed with you and I.  Seattle only holds reminders of us.  Images of the market, no cell phone disruptions, no texting-- it was all for us, and only us.  A lot of the left coast was for us.  I miss when the people we knew were in bed two hours earlier than us.  The street lights kept us up together.  We did not need the wine and tequila to make us laugh, and I did not feel as self conscious.  We had more time to bond, more time to know one another, alone, intimately, and it never happens now.

I am not as stable as I thought I was.  I am not as free as I want to be.  I wish I was a little bit different and that I could function fine without him.  I do not know why I worry.  I want the cuddling on the couch and candles and no cell phones.  I want to lay on the floor listening to music.  I wish I wasn't so attracted to the beginning of things.  I want to know what is wrong with me.

So, among the graduate school applications, ideas about medical school, my upcoming art exhibition, graduation, and classes, I cannot help but think about you and I.  I do not know what the word "we" means to you anymore.  I know we cherish each other and that we have been having a lot of bad days lately, but it is never between us, but the silence is killing me.  I want to hope that the romance will stay alive forever, but as we grow, I can't help but notice that soccer and futures are permeating your thought processes.

I want to be enough, in the present, here and now, and it would be nice for a little confirmation.

"Have you ever been out walking in the snow? / Tried to get back where you were before / You always end up not knowing where to go " 

My heart beats faster lately, in a bad way.  In a way that only acknowledges the lack of responses for two, five, ten, twelve hours at a time.  For the lack of comfort that you are able to give me and the fact that I am unsure how much you realize you hurt me in small ways.  The love I give is shown in picture texts, hand written letters, gifts, messages, emails, songs, and respelled out dreams, and none of it is returned.  The letter that arrived today was missed and will sit dead and lifeless because, once again, life is too busy for you to even appreciate the time I give you when you are fast asleep.  It is slowly obliterating my heart.  Every missed text.  Every missed moment that I try to make you smile.  Everything I do is something that I so desperately need as well, but every time that something does not arrive, my heart shatters that much more.  It's becoming an exponential problem, and only you are the one that can mend it.

So try a little harder next time, like you have been saying you will for weeks now, and maybe I will be able to stop pushing you away to save what is left of this soul that used to smile.

"He wakes up in the morning
Does his teeth, bite to eat, and he's rollin'
Never changes a thing
The week ends, the week begins

We look at each other
Wonderin' what the other is thinking
But we never say a thing
As these crimes between us grow deeper."

These pots and pans and lamps and clothes do not fit into the confinements of what used to be my suburban bedroom walls, and nor do I.  I long to be in the cities where lights are always visible, and the life is too.  As soon as this home darkens for the day and fills with tension, I would rather be any place but here.  I yell to protect myself from his yelling. I this place upside down, in a bad way, because he is used to getting away with all of this bullshit.

And on top of this, my brother who is not really my brother, has returned from rehab.  Three days later, he relapsed—and it stings. 

It stings when you know the exactly who stemmed all these problems within multiple individuals.  He’s a quiet sort, who is good at tricking these naïve teenagers, and I promise that if he ever walks by my house, I will knock him out.

All I really need is a hug, and someone to hold me and tell me that I am small yet inspired, and much too compassionate for my own good.   But 400 miles for five minutes probably does not balance out.