It all feels fake somehow. The conversations that leaped around while we ate. The trying to buy me food and act like money was no issue. The sex. It all felt like an act. The least you needed to do to keep me.

And it worked. Kind of. Except that now, hours after you've gone to bed, I feel somehow hollow and aprehensive. And I'm just a little bit back where I started. How can I trust you?

The truth is that I can't. And I don't think you have it in you to become the sort of person I can. "I don't believe you can live up to the expectations I would place on you." I suppose that's a self fulfilling prophecy. If I choose not to trust you than you obviously can't live up to the expectations I'm not clearly giving.

But how do I calm down? How do I put aside all my fear about you and get on with my life? How do I plant my ever so malnourished roots if I can't stop thinking that I'm going to give my happiness for you... again. Why bother being happy if it's just going to end? I suppose that is an obvious fallacy, but it bears pointing out.

But it doesn't make it any easier.

So here's the deal:

Tomorrow you're going to wake up hours before me. Probably.

But I will text you when I wake, and after I finish checking to make sure the internet is still there.

I will text you to give me courage to face my life. To work on my website, to paint. I will text you to tell you what I had for breakfast. and to tell you what I'm thinking for lunch.

Maybe that will be enough.

Probably not.