ek

I’m not entirely sure where my obsession with the past came from. This constant chase and pining towards nostalgia. It’s a bit of an addiction at this point. I love the sleepy sounds I hear in music; how they mimic the sensation of being in love without the downfall and disappointments of the actual person.

did it mean anything? when you asked me to come over to your apartment that night? breaking the odd habits we had. did it mean anything when you took my arm and laid it across your chest? or when you said i didn’t have to leave despite that’s what we do. did i royally screw up the opportunity to have a night together? would it be better if i just…

I’ve fallen into this sort of in between where I long for a sort of companionship. Yet when it’s mine for the taking my interest dwindles away and being alone sounds riper. I know what I want or at least who I want. But here I am again in another case of wanting what I cannot have.

why do so many of my thoughts start with you? your name. what you’re doing. the idea of you. the idea of us. why am i so consumed by you. what about you do i find to fascinating? what draws me in so deeply and holds me so tightly? it has to be that your interest in me is so minuscule in comparison to mine of you. i cannot go one measly hour without…

I’ve forgotten this little sensation. How it forces a stupid and blissful grin to remain stamped on your face. Love songs sound so much brighter and you’re caught dancing in front of the mirror of your bedroom endlessly.