I don’t know that I can do this anymore and I’ll tell you why. I see you. I like you. I kiss you. I think of you when you’re not around. Then there’s a point in the evening when I just want to go home. I’m done playing. I’m done being the person I am with you. But you’re sleeping over and I know that. So when we get home there are expectations.
When you’re not with me, I think about being with you. But when we get home together, I’d rather you weren’t. Not always. But sometimes, I don’t want to. I don’t feel like it.
Sometimes I wish you went your own way and I got to go home alone. It’s strange. While walking toward my house with you; I want to be alone. I think how I’d like to be alone with my book, my bed, my nightlight, and yet, the instant you went your own way I’d begin missing the fuck out of you and wonder what I did to send you packing?
Why do I care so much about losing.