So I found this buried in the depths of my facebook, and I felt like sharing it for some reason. I don't really know why, but I felt like sharing it, and probably also having a record for the next time facebook inevitably changes its message storage and display interface. It's pretty damned obvious what its about. Consider it egotistical or narcissistic, but reading what I wrote makes me want to cry. In a really good and happy way.
For the whole of the past two weeks.
Thank you for putting me up for 2 weeks. Thank you for letting me share your bed. Thank you for cooking for me every night. Thank you for paying so much. Thank you for taking me to shitty movies that you'd already seen. Thank you for showing me Boston. Thank you for driving me, and others, all over the place without complaint, or asking for gas money, even at 3am in the morning. I'm sorry my head got fucked up yesterday. And I'm sorry I'm running 4000 miles back away from you as a result. Thank you for dealing with it. Thank you for holding me, and telling me you loved me, and how much you'd miss me. Thank you for curling yourself around me in bed and making me feel special. Thank you for the shirt you gave me. I'm gonna be holding it all the way back to the UK. I cried the whole train journey up to Boston, and even now, if I stop, and think for a few seconds, tears start welling up in me. I don't do tears. You probably noticed last night, I can cry, I can shake, I can give myself sore eyes and short breaths and all the other symptoms, but I don't produce tears easily. Thank you for understanding exactly why I hate you, why I hate being in love with you, why I hate being with you and why I hate being apart from you. Thank you for understanding why I love all those things too. And thank you for feeling the same way back.
And in a way, thank you for being restrained. I get that it was better for the both of us. But as you've noticed, where things like this are concerned, I have no strength or resolve. I gave it up the moment you told me you loved me. And I know that as much as I love you, and as open as you are with me, I don't know so many things about you, and the part of me that wants to bee with you all the time is silly and childish. But I don't really care. If you asked, I wouldn't care for practicalities, or consequences, or reason. If you asked me to slaughter the entire world to get to you I'd do it. And you know that, and that's why you're the sensible one, and you don't ask anything of me, because you feel you don't have the right, and that makes it worse that I'd still do whatever you wanted of me. As I say, I'd rather go through a week of hell and know I'd lived for a brief moment, than have a dull ache all my life about all the things that passed me by. My heart constantly wants to break through my chest again today, but where yesterday it was in pain, today its a happy hurt. Thank you. Please keep being you, and making me hate you. I'm sorry I won't be around for another 3 weeks; I'm sorry you won't be able to surprise me by turning up at Patricks or whatever; I don't expect that of people, no-one else would do it for me, where I would do it for others, so I've grown not to think of it as a possibility, and one day, I'll learn to forget that around you, just as I had to learn that Joel is the only person I've ever met that is just as faultingly loyal to his friends as I am.
I know I'm rambling, but I don't really know what else to do. I don't want to be here, and I don't want to leave you. Once again, I find myself wishing I could press pause on the entire world for a few weeks, and just exist with you and me, and nothing else, except maybe some extra boys to play with...
Please come visit soon; I don't know when I'll next be able to come over - September isn't a confirmed thing, and depending on where Chris and I end up, I might not be able to come to the US for 2 years, and I don't want to wait that long for you.
I love you.