Miles and miles apart. Maybe there lies some of my insecurities. From spending almost every waking moment together, to a total cut off for a month. Him? Olympics... Working and being caught up in the beauty, the magic and enchanting patriotic hymns and events... Me? Business and usual. Surrounded by his friends rushing to put my mind at ease. They know, as I do... that he loves me.
The mind of a bipolar and former self-loather can still, however, be cruel.
But its in the moment I saw my inbox flag with a email msg that had for a subject line: "<3" ... that I realised the big things... didnt matter as much, as the multitude of little things that make ones heart flutter.
Its reading a line as simple as, I tried to sleep but couldnt stop thinking of you, and so emailed you... that reminds someone that despite all the larger dramas... the simple underlying silver linings can account for much more worth than the heavy mass of overanalyzing uncertainty.
Sitting here, reading those words over and over clutching a stuffed toy he adorably smothered in cologn so my bed wouldnt feel so empty while he was away, reminds me how profound the joys of those little precious moments are, and how isignificant those of his past are. I guess it takes a little courage to realise that even though he repeatedly refers to his past loves, he isnt with them. He is with me. And the creation of our own precious moments is worth more attention, than dwelling on those, that met their end.
Confessions of an over-analytical-insecure-but-madly-in-love-apparently-a-wreck-but-working-on-it-hopeless-romantic: "I love the boy, and fuck me running if some phantom love from the past is going to rain on my parade!"
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