Back awake, hopefully not for long, though. You're keeping me up through no fault of your own, beyond being what and who you are. It's the miasma of uncertainty looming about that's doing this, specifically. In those first few days we were on the same page, both given in to the creamy chemical highs of realizing this long-time thing we both seem to have been harbouring. Spending that little bit of time with you during the days followed by hours of conversations at night was the most joyous time I've had the pleasure of calling mine in ages. Now I'm back home, only a few hours away, and it feels like I'm on another planet, tucked beyond a time warp. I fully understand that no matter what, Time and Life continue. Work still needs worked, sleep demands being slept, etc. We even talked about the fact that you get busy and don't always remember to follow up with your personal life in a timely manner. I accept this, and also know I have loads more free time than you do. This only means I'll go quietly insane waiting for you to write back, rather than demand attention like the diva I'm not. Don't ever think I'm not thinking about you... Even the small yappy dogs that just ran past evoked you because of your chihuahuas. Sitting on the stairs outside, the North Star winking beyond my right shoulder (as it has for the past year I've lived here) now only hearkens to you, because that's where it was when you admitted back to having had a thing for me all this time... I'm trying so hard not to forget everything that isn't you, which proves to be more challenging than imagined.
I know Life goes on, busy happens, and it's way too early on (considering) for me to rightfully request any answers from you, but that doesn't mean I'm not half wild to know whether or not you think of me as much as I think of you. I hold back my endless conversations rather than submitting you to an endless barage of texts, waiting for you to write back, because you'll do so when you can. That's understood, and not held against you. In my head, however, you are someone I would make time for. I recognize that we're not the same person, which is why I'm not being needy all over you about it. You don't know this journal exists, no one does anymore, and it's a safe place to get all the squishy girl feels out of the way so I can operate as a functioning human. An exhibitionist diary, almost, in that I get to leak my estrogen all over the page, knowing you won't see how I truly feel (that way that sends most males rolling their eyes and heading for the hills)... My thoughts unknown to you, but none too worried about folks who don't know me, only reading this due to a random web search. Part of me is fairly sure you'd appreciate the love-story-in-the-making aspect, based on our conversations, but it's way too soon to dump all this on you. Besides, you're not much of a reader, so this is even more safely hidden for now. Part of me tingles at the thought of you happening upon this page because you couldn't get me out of your head and ran the correct Google search to lead you here, but that's the idealistic romantic talking.
Once upon a time, I waited, a starry-eyed girl looking for my lobster, unafraid of telling those I adored how I felt. After being met with much and continued derision, I emotionally beat it out of myself because it just leads to pain and confusion. A few years back, it occurred that writing can be a wonderful outlet for those feels I'd stopped letting myself feel, so I dabbled. Lo and behold, that starry-eyed girl still existed somewhere off left-stage. The girl who waited. Waited for her time to speak about how the only thing in life she's ever wanted was to simply be loved forever and ever. Phantom and Moulin Rouge are two of your favourite stories, they've always been mine, too (who can honestly resist such gorgeous love stories?!?) but because you said it first, adding a "me too!!" would have sounded contrived. Maybe it wouldn't have. That I question this shows there are still emotional cracks which may be fragile things running to the core, or something simply marring the surface. Either way, I don't poke at them... the starry-eyed girl isn't allowed to roam too far.
I'd like to hope that I haven't already become just another of your female friends. If it has happened, please don't be too long in letting me in on the secret.