I am beautiful. I am myself. And I am confused by how many people do not see the former nor respect the latter.
For some reason, I found myself thinking of ex-otter. Maybe because he was with me when I first started my job at the library. My heart ached a little. He would bring me lunch sometimes. I got him a library card. It expired in July.
Last night Pants and I had a text conversation that lasted longer than one back-and-forth. He answered me nearly immediately. This doesn't happen often with him. Today I wrote to him at 11am and still haven't heard back. Not surprising, but as always disappointing. I don't have anything to say, anyway. Nothing he really needs to know. I just like to talk to him.
I'd call him if he'd want to talk. But if I start down that road, I'll end up at a dead end again; like last time. I tread a thin line here. He is always on the verge of wanting me, but can't seem to spill over into it when we're not physically together. I try hard to be patient. I do. I try so hard. More now than ever before, I think.
I try to be patient while I wait to hear from Pants. I try not to wait for him; to not think about it; but I can't help it. He is in my head. I can feel him and smell him and taste him. I want him.
It feels nice to want. It feels nice to not get the immediate gratification. I must remember this. I would like more time with him, but it isn't my call. Our schedules are too different; he is too private.
I want to just be.
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