This is not just a stream of constant thought, it is a constant drum of anticipation. The hope to write something great, but somehow not being able to. It's the joy you feel as soon as you strike gold but that pit you fall into when you realise gold is merely zirconia or worse, polished rock. It is the joy I felt (everyday I saw you) when I first kissed your lips, when our bodies entangled together to make bliss. Ensuring our love was solidified with one action.
It is I love you, it is how do you want me, how can I change you, where are we going. WHERE ARE WE GOING?
It seemed like there was always a path we should have been walking on. That we as a unit should have been going, a destination, a set point that should be hit at certain times, certain dates.
First date - kiss, second date - kiss more, third date - third base, fourth date, fifth date, sixth date - meet the family, seventh date, eighth date - move in, ninth date, tenth date - I love you.
I can't do this.
I back away, hands up, defeated. Burnt out, not wanting to show my hand, play my heart. Walk away.
I'm sorry.
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