Writing about you is harder than it looks because words mean more when they are about you. They must be truthful and clear. It is hard because I am in a city looking at the same thing you are looking at in a different city. Soon, we will learn to live this way, but not yet. It is hard because you both define and deviate from the notions I have about things. It is hard because I can't figure you out.
You make me feel less than whole in that you show me where I fall short. When you talk about her I know it isn't going to work. She is young, and deceptive, and weak. She is only comforted by the idea of you, your body terrifies her. It elates me.
On the night that we are almost arrested on the beach I begin to question my ability to control myself around you.
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