5.14.18
I watched her from afar for too long and ignored my heart tugging at its leash.
Exclamation points went off any time I heard her voice trail down the hallway, or whenever I caught a glimpse of her through her door cracked open.
Later, we described it as playing Whack a Mole with our feelings; how we were both so eager to shut down the feelings and how enthusiastically they continuously popped up.
All of this time spent admiring her, catching her gaze from across a crowded dining hall and wishing I took that chance, when she could have just been mine.
I think about it too often now -- when we're just being us, sitting on her bed, as I drum my hands along her zylophone-like collarbones right before she pulls me in for a hug, her fingers sneaking under my cotton t-shirt and up my spine.
"Your spine is very spine-y," she says lightheartedly, I could practically hear the smile in her voice.
So many moments like this could have happened sooner, in the fall, the time where I desperately needed affection, yet instead, I traded affection for alcohol and assumed the warmth of vodka was equivalent to love.
I could have been cuddled up with her instead of drunk on a dorm floor.
I remember how easily they hurt me, so unintentional, but more than I ever expected from them.
And now, I remember how easily she could do the same -- so my heart retreats, and I hold it back.
We're together and apart and I'm still playing Whack a Mole with my feelings for her.
Exclamation points went off any time I heard her voice trail down the hallway, or whenever I caught a glimpse of her through her door cracked open.
Later, we described it as playing Whack a Mole with our feelings; how we were both so eager to shut down the feelings and how enthusiastically they continuously popped up.
All of this time spent admiring her, catching her gaze from across a crowded dining hall and wishing I took that chance, when she could have just been mine.
I think about it too often now -- when we're just being us, sitting on her bed, as I drum my hands along her zylophone-like collarbones right before she pulls me in for a hug, her fingers sneaking under my cotton t-shirt and up my spine.
"Your spine is very spine-y," she says lightheartedly, I could practically hear the smile in her voice.
So many moments like this could have happened sooner, in the fall, the time where I desperately needed affection, yet instead, I traded affection for alcohol and assumed the warmth of vodka was equivalent to love.
I could have been cuddled up with her instead of drunk on a dorm floor.
I remember how easily they hurt me, so unintentional, but more than I ever expected from them.
And now, I remember how easily she could do the same -- so my heart retreats, and I hold it back.
We're together and apart and I'm still playing Whack a Mole with my feelings for her.
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