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So here we are. Me on the floor, you on the couch. 

I don't know what this is, or what it means, or if it even means anything. In my mind, in my head, in my heart and hopes, it means something. In my world, in my life... it probably does not. But its a stream of feelings. Its building and building inside me. I feel like exploding. I have my game face on. At least I'm trying. But I'm starting to think maybe my truth is showing. As I type this my heart is racing. Its beating hard and heavy. Its caused such a stir in me that my stomach its aching. It's actually aching. And swirling and flipping and anxious. 

Should I bite my tongue? Should I speak my heart? Is my mind playing tricks? I don't have an answer. I'm not completely sure of the question. But this is what I know. I thought I loved you before. I feel like I could love you again. It seems logical and improbable that we are a perfect match. I want to crawl over to you, on the couch, I want to curl around you. I want to remember and bask in our bodies wrapping perfectly around one another. I want to miss you. I want to long for you and I want you to curl your life around mine. I want to get tangled in each others imperfections and worries and struggles and hearts. I want something from you. This much I know. I want something from you, and for you, that spans beyond sweaty bodies rolling between the sheets. 

I need to hear your inner workings. I need to see your wheels turning. I need something from you. I am insatiable. The answers you have given me, that I thought I had to have, I got. And now I want more. I am insatiable. Why do I have this constant, urgent hunger for your affection? Why do I put so much over productive thought into it? The things I can't be sure of... the 'Do I want you?' the 'Does he want me?' .. the 'Is this right for either of us?'. It drives me to the borders of true insanity. How will I ever know these answers... You never speak. You only let out tiny pieces of the something I want.  And I'm too blinded with hope to even decipher these from black to white. 

So, here we are. Me on the floor, and you on the couch. And I'm numbing my hurt and sharpening my wit with each sip of wine. My self medication and therapy. Instead of knowing, or letting go, I ache. I ache to crawl to you and wrap my ache around you. 

Maybe it will wake you up.