Morning

I'm very good at saying goodbye. I'm well acquainted with the restless sleep when you're in a bed that isn't yours next to someone else. (I feel I should write that WELL ACQUAINTED is describing my familiarity with the feeling, not saying that I have a large number of such experiences). 

This morning, I didn't have to say my goodbye. I woke up and had that awareness I was not in my own bed. I wrestled with wonder. Should I bounce? I could go home and rest before I have to work at 11. The thing is, I was the one who initiated all of this. I was the one who poured my heart out. I wanted to be there.

He was awake too. We weren't awake and ready to get up. He held me all morning. We talked about getting breakfast. He talked about showing me around. I didn't want to get up. I didn't want him to let go.

I have this mindset of this could be the last time. So make the most of it. And I just wanted to be there with him.

When I finally got home, I reflected on the night. I reflected on the things I said. I remembered crying in front of him. I remember letting myself be vulnerable. I remember holding hands on the way to the next bar. I then get overwhelmed with feeling.

I call Mere. I tell her everything. She asks me how I feel. I don't know. I feel good. I feel happy it happened. It was a good night and a pleasant morning. The truth is, I don't know how to feel feelings. I can visualize this wall I put up around myself and my heart. I block out feelings. I don't know what to do if they start to come up.

And that's where I am right now. I don't know what to do with myself. On the one hand, there are so many sweet nothings I could respond with. On the other hand, am I stage 5 clinger? I don't even know how he feels. Because with our history, with that last encounter as the last memory of us together, am I the villain?