I’m starting to enter my bed with trepidation around this time, now.
It’s new.
And old.
Laying in bed at night, in the bashful darkness, thinking all the thoughts you shouldn’t believe.
Years ago, I dated a guy; we’d get ready for bed while sharing our days.
We’d read our books side by side.
We’d be together.
We’d sleep.
It was something I’d never experienced.
That type of intimacy.
It’s something I’ve yet to experience again.
I gave him too much of me.
I always do.
Sometimes I think about if I could take you, who you are, and put you somewhere else.
Where you had never fallen in love with someone.
Never became famous.
Where you lived a normal life.
But still you.
Then, we’d meet.
It’s getting easier.
I guess.
This happens every few years.
I fall, again.
But you can never escape the walls you’ve built until you abandon what you’ve spent a lifetime building.
I hope to teach myself everything I’ve never learned.
About happiness.
…she isn’t now
