This ponderous waiting, I realize that the day doesn’t begin until she is here. It exists in this anticipation but until she is here, it’s not enough. It is real but not worth its reality. I wonder how I will be when she, inevitably, leaves. The mere thought of without her, nearly brings me to tears. It physically hurts my heart. Yet, I feel safer pondering this as an inexorable collapse than to hold onto hope. Hope that we become something more than hanging out, hope that not just love blooms but that the relationship will work. I don’t want to give in to that fantasy. I don’t want to embrace what might be and never become. I also don’t want to to ever leave her side. It’s why I tell friends that I’m proper fucked. I can’t leave her. Don’t want to be without her. For whatever amount of with her that I am, I will accept. But I can’t stop from longing for more. It is that juxtaposition that makes me so lost.