I am drunk.

It is sunday night, and I am solidly drunk.

It is my friday night.

~

"Video chat with me, naked man?" I tease, hoping.

He concedes, longer than I thought he would. He video chats with me with his hand over his eyes, because his headache is so bad.

I feel guilty, kind of. I feel guilty and delighted that he would ignore the pain to see me.

I miss him. I miss him so much.

How did I never notice my old walnut heart was really a heavy fleshy thing, only half complete?

How? How did I not notice?

~

I listen to Blue Moon, by Chris Isaak. A purr, a swing. I like this version.

I didn't brush my teeth.

Fuck you. It's my friday.

I miss him. It sits, thick in my blood, making me stare longingly at the sky.

I apply for jobs, far away from here. I dread the day when I have to say goodbye.

It makes bile rise in my throat, the idea of leaving him. My perfect man.

I will not call him a boy. This one is a man.

I think I love him. I think.

Every facet he shows me makes him more dear. I love that I can be serious, and teasing, all within ten minutes.

His head is on straight, and yet, he sees how rediculous everything is.

~

I just finished the book The G1rl with the P3arl Earring. It was good. Strange. Vivid. I do not think I would have liked the main character, but I would have respected her.

We had been talking about Vermeer.

I like him. He prefers Rembrant.

Whatever. Rembrant sucks.

Vermeer is amazing.

~

I dread the day.

I know I have said before: I will never love again.

After T...I will never love again.

T is my man. T is who I want. More than any boyfriend I've ever had. More and then some.

I miss his hands. I miss his kisses. I miss his talk and his smile and his his his...

I miss.

.

Rosie.

Before&After