Dear Hilo,
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,
A 

<3

You: [text I get before you go into work] <3

______________________________

I think you may have forgotten how bad I need those.

Sometimes I get irritated with myself for constantly needing your attention and affection.

It’s like these small, delicious scraps you throw out are barely enough to keep me from starving to death. I’m always on the brink of either “IT’S NOT ENOUGH!” and “I like it this way.”

I can kind of understand acting enigmatic in front of friends, and all that… but you were the one who asked me if I’d be kissing you in public and holding your hand and continuously flirting. At the time (before we met, that is) it seemed like that was what you wanted me to do, and I was more than willing to oblige, but now (that I’m here) I’m not sure what you want, or when and where you want it.

Sometimes your mysterious attitude makes my head heart hurt.