I set you apart.
I think he thinks I hate him.
Maybe he thinks that because he can't do what I want that I resent him for it. And, maybe he's a little bit right. Because I hate feeling cheated, and left. I hate feeling not enough, not enough for anyone to throw everything away on the chance of everything.
This is what happens when roads intersect and cross, and you're left wondering if they can run side by side.
"My timing is for shit."
"Everyone's timing is for shit."
I can't get warm again. Again, I sit with the heater at 75, freezing.
I don't know anyone that wants a long distance anything. I don't know anyone that wants to try, or attempt possibly in vain, to make something work with 900 miles between them. And I don't know if it's worth the long distance phone calls, trips planned, aching thighs, to make the kind of commitment it takes to make it work.
I'm five years too late, and he's five years to early. But I can't see it when I'm with him. I can't see it when he speaks, only when he talks about what he wants. Because I wanted all of the same things. So I did them.
I don't want to be The Trip to Montana. I don't want to be the handful of inside jokes, the girl with the bed, the lost T-shirt, the barely green eyes.
It's worse that I'm sitting here thinking about it all, jumping to conclusions, making assumptions. I know where you'll go with this, but I don't know if I'm right.