Feeling: Comforted
Listening to: Jimmy Eat World - Sweetness (best song in EXISTENCE)
Reading/Watching: not reading: driving. Thanksgiving, here I come!

Quincy and I talked last night.

It was after the choir concert, after we all went out to dinner (the other air force boys came to see it! I was so flattered), and we went up to his room so we could actually be us, instead of talking around the other four people in the room.

He started off about my voice- how he'd never known I could sing like that, etc etc, and it just made a knot twist tighter in my stomach. I stopped him and blurted out that we needed to slow down, that I wasn't ready for this, that I needed space and time.

Quincy sat and listened to all this, then softly asked, "What did he do to you, to make you like this?"

I almost cried. He was right. And it tumbled out, surprising even me, because I hadn't really made the connection before.

The last person who told me I was wonderful, who used strings of superlatives to describe me, who wrote poetry (or in his case, songs) about me, was Harry. He used to go on and on, about how he was lucky. How he'd never felt this way about anyone else, how I made him feel alive and safe, how I was amazing, how I was so, so special, how I was going to save him.

And I tried. I turned myself inside out trying to give him everything he needed, but came up against a brick wall, because everything I had to give wasn't enough. Everything in me, my smiles, my laughter, my trust, my hugs, my support, my complete adoration, they weren't enough.

I guess when it comes down to it, I am just plain terrified that someone else is going to decide I'm not so special. That he'll eventually find the one thing, the one time, the one place, where I'm not his dream, where I'm not everything and more.

And he'll go to someone else to get it. Even though I forgave Harry, I couldn't trust him anymore, and that's why I gave up on him. I explained all this and Quincy just held my hands.

He told me he wasn't sure how he could earn my trust, but he would try. I told him it wasn't about that; I just feel like there's a part of me that's been cracked. It's not all the way to broken, but it's been pushed beyond its strength. I need some time to recover. I can't call someone "sweetie" or "baby" without looking around for Harry, and I hate it, but it's how it is.

Quincy told me we could take this any way we wanted: as slow as I wanted, as casual, whatever. That we could strip it down to: I like him, he likes me, we enjoy being together, and that's all there is to say.

He held me so tightly, I closed my eyes and felt myself breathe into him. Even if the coldest part of my heart calls him a rebound guy, I can't deny that he's doing a hell of a job.

Now it's time to head for home. I've got a half dozen pies to help make, and a football game at Kyle Field to watch.

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