the things is this:
23 June, 2005

i'm just scared, is all. terror stricken to spend moments with you, horrified at the thought of going home to be by myself again.

i'm scared of all the people you've loved, all the people i haven't, scared that maybe you'll decide to love me too, scared that maybe you won't, scared that i'll stay up at night again with soggy eyes and tender heart and dream of the day when someone somewhere will find me to be a person worth investing in.

there's a ringing in my ears, a pounding in my chest, a fear, an unmistakable throbbing fear that i can't say what i mean, nor mean what i say, and that this will be the only thing that defines me after i am dead.

i don't want to be remembered when i die. i want to fall into the ocean and be infamous only to the fish. a white and glittering bone castle hotel that everyone dreams of staying in at least one time.

i'm scared of getting what i want.

i whisper to you what i want, i say all these things and ten times more in tiny cursive letters on your chest when we're both half asleep, and sometimes you catch me, sometimes you ask me what i'm spelling, and how can i answer? how i can say to you that i am asking you questions about myself, about the shape of my face behind your eyes, how can i tell you secrets out loud? how can i form into syllables and straight faced vowels all the tiny mutterances of my bones.

there is no description that will suffice, so i mumble a solid "nothing" and shift over, hauling all that that encompases to the other side of my body, heavy and dumb, and i halfway fall asleep, and listen to you breathe, and i have terrible nightmares of black shapes and full bodided shadows.

in the morning though, always a new day, in the morning i blink once or twice and smile and say i can't remember, and you nod.

it's not that i'm a liar. i just don't know how to say it. i just... i just haven't figured it out yet.

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