I wish that you would write on your blog.
You’re still too much for me to figure out.
I’m still insatiable…
I was surprised how affectionate you were being with me in the kitchen as we attempted to make butterbeer together. Any time that you’re openly playful and sweet where I haven’t initiated it always makes my adoration level for you skyrocket into the stars. Just something as silly as you pushing my hood over my head or kissing my cheek or the small, subtle touches when you pass behind me is enough to shake me out of the miserable mood I’ve been in. It’s like none of that’s even happening, and it’s the most wonderful taste of amnesia.
I wonder if you get scared of making these little actions of endearment unimportant to me because that’s how you get. I wonder what you think about all these e-letters… has it become mundane and not as cute and insightful as it once was? I wonder why you quit writing, or if you ever think about starting up again. You’re really brilliant when it comes to putting words together; I hate missing out on that. I wonder why you keep yourself hidden, more than anything.
Come Out, Come Out,