Feeling: confused. It is 4:30 and I need bed.
Listening to: Evanescense - Missing
Reading/Watching: the backs of my eyelids.

I cannot sleep.

Tonight was the first night I have seen him since I said goodbye. The first time, in three months, that Quincy and I spent more than five minutes together. More than the saying awkward hellos in passing, because I wasn't sure how I would feel. Wasn't sure if I could process the difference between before and after.

I can. I can look at him, and remember how his lips felt, and not want to relive it. I can remember the warmth of his arms without wanting to crawl into them, even though it would provide comfort and the affirmation that I dangerously need and therefore shouldn't seek.

But he cannot do the same. He looks at me, and his eyes are asking. His embrace hello is just that split second too long, his voice softens in my viscinity. His eyes ask.

And mine are saying no, and it hurts my stomach to do it.

He was always so steady, so dependable, so... dull at times, in his constancy. I always knew exactly what to expect. Perhaps this constancy is what keeps his heart warm, when I would have wished it faded by now.

"Good night; it was good seeing you again." And I mean it.

His eyes are holding. His smile soft. "Definitely." And his hand still on my wrist, skin to familiar skin, asking.

And I climb back in the car, the straightness of my spine saying no. I want him to stop, or else I'll have to answer, and I'm tired of feeling guilty for what I don't want (and maybe should).

I would have thought he'd not want to ask by now. He needs a girl who can love him.

I need... a long time. A very, very long time. Ask me again in September, when my heartstrings aren't so braided.

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