where you rest your weary self

I want to write something here about this weekend. I feel like I need to express how wonderful it was to lay in bed with someone so safe. I was worried that I'd be really freaked out being there, since I've only known him for a month and I'd never been to his apartment, AND he lives with three other people.
But it was ok.
I want to write something about his fingers. When we were waiting for the train, he took off his glove and wiggled his fingers and it made everything feel alright. Somehow it calmed me down. I don't think he noticed he did it. He flexed his hand and my heart was just gone.
It's small things. It's the stillness I feel in him. His completeness. His unwavering patience. It's him holding my hand as we walked in the rain. It's the fact that he held my hand. He initiated. He initiates. It's trying to sleep and opening my eyes and seeing him watching me. It's his hand on my neck. It's his warmth. It's every single time he touches me.
It's his tongue on my wrist. His mouth at my throat. It's his excitement at my excitement. "You're silly." He encourages it. "It's your fault."
I don't know how to say what I feel without sounding trite. Without sounding like every other person suddenly surprised by the appearance of someone that seems just right for them. Does that happen? It must. It feels like it's happening to me. But it's easy to feel that way after only a month. I can't believe it's been such a short time. Every time I see him again it's like we were never apart. It's like the days in between didn't happen. Is that bad? Am I living two different lives? Studious in one, helplessly enamored in the other?
I think it doesn't matter as long as I do the best that I can in both of these lives. Week and weekend. I was upset today and tried not to take it out on anyone. I don't know if it worked. As much as I absorb others' emotions, I also project my own. I don't know how not to do it. I want to learn to contain myself. I don't want to seep out onto others.
I don't want to bleed onto others.
He recovers quickly. He is resilient.
I worry out of habit. I look for things to go wrong. I make myself miserable because I'm scared of things that I can't control. Loving life sounds like such a beautiful mind set. I catch glimpses of it but can never fully embrace it. This change isn't something that will happen to me. It's something that I have to make happen.
I have to let go of all the shit that has happened before. I have to let go of the scars and the pain and the people that hurt me and the people whom I have hurt. I'm working on it. I always am. Always will be.
Let go of the past. It's so hard. There are so many strings that still tie me. I am snip snip snipping them but it seems like there's always one more.
Can't go anywhere in this town without thinkin' 'bout someone. I think that's ok. I think these memories can be something other than what I've made them out to be.
I remember asking, a long time ago, or several months ago, or just now: what if I fall in love? What if I become happy?
Oh, what if, what if?
The quiet life suits me so well these days.