I admit it: I do love [ ]. I've only known him about five months. We're in some sort of relationship, but it's irrelevant. He is leaving the city terribly soon. I might be going mad.
My mood changes. Sometimes I make a concerted effort to live in the present. I want to enjoy the remainder of my time with him. I don't want his last memories of me to be of a broken, crying fool. To worry about the future would ruin everything.
Other times I cry - in the car, at work, in my bedroom before sleep. I've cried in his presence several times. That I've been able to crack in front of him is telling. That he still speaks to me afterward ... well, the significance does not escape me.
There is something different about him. If I were ten or fifteen years younger, such a statement wouldn't mean anything. But I'm older now. The fact of the matter is I might be at the halfway point in my life (if I'm lucky). I've been through a lot, I've moved around a lot, I've visited a lot of places, I've encountered many different people. So at this point, when I say there is something different about him, I'm inclined to believe there actually is.
Goddamn it.
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