Frustrated.
Sometimes absolutely nothing makes sense.
Like right now. I got a 76 on my insects test. I got a 92 on my Hinduism paper.
I'm listening ot Boyz II Men. Seriously.
I'm really excited about Centex, but this weekend Craig was going to come visit. Now he isn't (Centex)
I don't know how I'm going to go home for Easter. I think Craig (maybe) will come down and we'll drive from gainesville. He gets that friday and monday off. Lucky duck.
I miss Craig so so so much. Spring Break was so good, and I got used to spending time with him in the capacity I did, and I want to do that again.
There is something suddenly unfulfilling about pressing stuffed animals to my chest, and wearing t-shirts and sweatshirts that remind me of you. The pictures and the cards, and your handwriting, and the toys, they aren't tangible enough anymore. I need you. And Easter and Summer just can't satisfy. I hope you get out of school on the 12th, not the 15th. I hope for every day more than the last.
I want to play ultimate for the rest of my life.
I want to get a tattoo with you. I want you to get the arabic tatoo from the Quran, because it is beautiful, and I want to be with you, part of that beautiful. I want to get the fuel flame. I want to be a part of something that is beyond me, above me.
And so so badly, I want to take your clothes off, and I want to trace all the lines of tattoos on your arms, and kiss your biceps and triceps. I want to feel the excitement in your fingertips when I arch my back, stretching in the morning. I want to repeat all the things I know you love, the way my body fits tightly into you on the side, with your chest pressed against my back. I want to lie on our backs and hold hands. I want the silence of your room, the white sound of the oscillating fan, the light demi-snore prancing on your lips, the quakes and quivers of your legs, arms, neck, fingers, feet relaxing into sleep. And I want your kisses spastic and wild all over my face and neck. Just writing these things down make me feel so close.
And there are things no one can see.
52 fucking days. At least.
I am done with this semester in 43 days. I just want to get out.
I miss my house. I miss my sister and my mom and my dad and duke and my bed. I miss wellington. I miss working at JC Penney. I miss the wellington 8 theatre. I miss Craig's house. I miss St. Peters. I miss the beach.
If I don't go home for Easter I may just implode. at the least, I need to see Craig.
Like right now. I got a 76 on my insects test. I got a 92 on my Hinduism paper.
I'm listening ot Boyz II Men. Seriously.
I'm really excited about Centex, but this weekend Craig was going to come visit. Now he isn't (Centex)
I don't know how I'm going to go home for Easter. I think Craig (maybe) will come down and we'll drive from gainesville. He gets that friday and monday off. Lucky duck.
I miss Craig so so so much. Spring Break was so good, and I got used to spending time with him in the capacity I did, and I want to do that again.
There is something suddenly unfulfilling about pressing stuffed animals to my chest, and wearing t-shirts and sweatshirts that remind me of you. The pictures and the cards, and your handwriting, and the toys, they aren't tangible enough anymore. I need you. And Easter and Summer just can't satisfy. I hope you get out of school on the 12th, not the 15th. I hope for every day more than the last.
I want to play ultimate for the rest of my life.
I want to get a tattoo with you. I want you to get the arabic tatoo from the Quran, because it is beautiful, and I want to be with you, part of that beautiful. I want to get the fuel flame. I want to be a part of something that is beyond me, above me.
And so so badly, I want to take your clothes off, and I want to trace all the lines of tattoos on your arms, and kiss your biceps and triceps. I want to feel the excitement in your fingertips when I arch my back, stretching in the morning. I want to repeat all the things I know you love, the way my body fits tightly into you on the side, with your chest pressed against my back. I want to lie on our backs and hold hands. I want the silence of your room, the white sound of the oscillating fan, the light demi-snore prancing on your lips, the quakes and quivers of your legs, arms, neck, fingers, feet relaxing into sleep. And I want your kisses spastic and wild all over my face and neck. Just writing these things down make me feel so close.
And there are things no one can see.
52 fucking days. At least.
I am done with this semester in 43 days. I just want to get out.
I miss my house. I miss my sister and my mom and my dad and duke and my bed. I miss wellington. I miss working at JC Penney. I miss the wellington 8 theatre. I miss Craig's house. I miss St. Peters. I miss the beach.
If I don't go home for Easter I may just implode. at the least, I need to see Craig.