17 months without seeing you -

1 phone call and every feeling I ever suppressed exploded into my body.

I thought the dam I had built was a precautionary one. A nice safety mechanism in case it ever monsoons.

I had no idea water had been building on the other side patiently waiting for one small crack to burst completely.

They say time moves differently for everyone.
I know mine slows down when I am counting down the days to see you.
I think I’ve found the easiest way to extend my life.
Have a date with you, always 30 days away.

All this time I thought I was alone.
Comparing you to everyone when you had moved on with your life.
Only to find out, you were also stuck.
We were unaware we were each others best.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.

You said you always felt safe with me. I admitted I hadn’t found the level of openness or comfort I had with you with anyone else. You admitted the same.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.

You said that you had been more comfortable and vulnerable with me than any other person besides your childhood best friend.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.

I admitted I hadn’t been able to match our chemistry with anyone. You admitted the same and said you still often thought of me for inspiration.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.

I thought I was the one that hadn’t moved on but you were standing still with me.

We talked on the phone for 6 hours.
I normally hate talking on the phone.

I know you don’t love me like you loved her.
And I know because I don’t love you like I loved him.
It’s the scorned that can see the pain in another.

I know you don’t love me like you loved her and don’t blame it on time.
You’ll say it was two years but you said you loved her after 3 dates.
We’ve been together for 3 months.

But it’s not about the words.
And I actually don’t want you to say them because then I’d feel like I’d need to say them back and I’d feel guilty that I meant them less this time.
If you said them tomorrow it wouldn’t change my opinion.
It’s not the lip service but a knowing.
A knowing of what it feels like when you are loved like that.

I’m anxious.
It’s a general type that scares me.

Although it’s not general.

I rarely open this website if it doesn’t involve love.
It’s become my little secret outlet.
The true feelings come out here before I can write them in a diary.
The gut instincts appear in anxiety sentences in this box before I believe them.
So I guess what I’m really trying to ask right now -
Is this enough?
Will it ever be enough?

So much guilt from unproductive time.
I love an idle Saturday.
But somehow I can’t avoid hating myself for taking one.