Sometimes we're talking and I worry that he thinks too much of me. Other times we're talking and I wonder why it's easier to see how much I am when he's around to look with me. And then I wonder, if we had met as tiny little kids and done all of our growing up together, would everything have been that much better? Or would he have become by now, like every friend I had when I was a tiny little kid, someone I don't know anymore? Maybe nature somehow assigns shifts to all of the people you'll need in your life, and this just happens to be his. Or maybe I'm just feeling a bit too sentimental this morning. Sometimes I feel like a machine that runs on sentimentality. Sometimes I wonder whether I'll find out one day that I'm just some fancy robot that knows how to cry.

The aircraft were particularly loud last night. While I was half asleep, I half dreamed that the sound of a helicopter was the sound of my heart beating. Were there always so many helicopters at night? How did so much time go by so fast? How is it that the past six months feels like six years? I have something new to write on walls. I have plans. I have... I have to make myself braver, and this weekend is a good place to start. Hopefully.

p.s. I won't forget. Sometimes it just takes longer than other times, and waiting is sort of nice in its own way. At any given moment you could be talking to me, and I like that.