I think I’m paranoid…
Fuck. Fuckety fuck. I’m not paranoid, but I’m ready to burst from this warm, intense, chaotic, quite, feeling some call love. It’s just amazing. I can’t concetrate. My work is suffering, but that is the least of my problems really. Tonight she going to call me. Wednesday we will see eachother. I can hardly wait.
The nice thing about love is, that if one is ready to completely overdose on it, that there appears to be some music about it. About love, I mean. She is in my veins, pulsating inside me with her warmth, her humor, her love. It’s awesome. All this is so fulfilling, so misteriously present in my life, that it amazes people that we don’t have a relationship. ‘But you look so god damn happy, everytime you mention her.’ Yes, but I don’t to be have my feelings backed up. Or confirmed. Yet.
I trust that she knows how I feel. I trust, and hope. If I focus on what I feel, love, then nothing really matters. Things may hurt, I may be not to sure of myself, but it’s nothing compared to the vast amount of goodness. Time doesn’t exist, and she feels next to me, beside me everywhere I go. That, sometimes makes me paranoid. In a good way.
