God I miss you! Iβm worried Iβll never see you again. 8 days isnβt eternity, but somehow still it feels like it. Especially when there had started to be a pattern that I foolishly grew accustomed to. Itβs all about to blow up here soon. Like dynamite on a Saturday morning cartoon andβ¦ I donβt think Iβm going to get to see you one last time. Before itβs all just smithereens. And if I donβt get the way to contact you before then, what then? What if there isnβt more time? What if I did something, even though he said I did nothing? God I miss you! I hear your voice in my head. I miss your soft skin, your cute laugh, and your hugs. I miss the way you turn me on. I miss the way you look at me. The way youβve always looked at me. I know I canβt fix it. I know I canβt save you until you want to be saved. But now Iβm worried Iβm going away, after itβs blown to smithereens, before I secure that contact, and thenβ¦ Itβs just all in the wind. And that hurts. The idea, the chance, the probability of that hurt so fucking bad! My trauma and BPD tell me itβs all lies, the sweet things you say and do. They tell me youβre gone for good (lord knows your brotherβs uncertainty isnβt helping). My rational mind got 86ed. All thatβs left is a moody, emotional, blob, of lukewarm wax. Not melted, not sold, just a blob. A bendable, shape-able ball of fucking wax. That gets forgotten and hardens in the weirdest shape. Or gets set on fire and melted beyond repair. Drying up as only sporadic puddles. Itβs all the same really, isnβt it? God I miss you! I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so bad! I want you to fuck me. I want you to hold me close. I want to tell you so many things. βI missed you.β βReally?β Yes, really, fucking really. Like a really really miss you. She makes you small. She makes you afraid. She controls you for fear of losing you. For control of something. For power. For βloveβ. Control isnβt, and will never be, love. Iβd do anything to keep you. Anything to have you. Anything to hold you, if only for just one more time. One more teeny tiny flash of time. Just to tell you how much you matter to me. Just to tell you I donβt know what the future holds, but Iβm happy these moments exist (or rather existed). Regardless of any outcome: wished for, dismantled, or designed. To tell youβre handsome, kind, smart, and brave. To tell you your laugh is so cute and your skin is so soft. To tell you I see how you look at me. Look right through me into my soul. Despite everything I feel seen by you. And I want you to know that. I hope you feel seen by me. You do, you must, right? Left is up and right is down at this point. Iβm more mixed up than clothes in a washing machine on a speed cycle. To tell you how much I like you. Not so you pick me, but just so you know my feelings are real. And not just some passing, fleeting, replacement for your brother nonsense. You arenβt your brother. Your brother isnβt you. I love you both. and you, you, Possibly Perfect, youβre the one Iβm missing. Youβre the one Iβm wishing for. Youβre the one Iβm hoping to see before it all turns to dust. Dust that scatters in the wind. Regardless, here Iβll be like a stone. A heavy fucking stone. Immovable, unbending, and constant.
