In the end... In short...it seemed that... There are wounds that are not seen at first glance. There are things that you don't like to comment on. There's shit you'd rather not clean. What do you think is that they are not noticeable under the rug? But they are noticeable and in the end you find someone who senses them. Ask. Investigate. And try to help you let go. I see your photos. Our pictures. Just a few months ago. Just a microscopic fraction of time ago. I see you now. The same person showing very different parts of herself. The ones that come out. The ones that touch. Parts that weren't there but were there. Your person amplifies me because they are very different from my first image. Very gratifying to know that you are even more of a person than I thought. It hurts sometimes to know that you don't always want to share those parts. I want it all. I love you whole.

Back on this endless journey home today. You far...and distant. I long. Your cold house awaits me...and I long for it. You take your anger out for a walk because I haven't met your expectations...your desires. You punish me for no reason. That doesn't work for me. I don't understand. You do not understand me. We have not understood each other. But it doesn't work for me. Does not matter. I don't want ridiculous competitions. And I long.

Sometimes you look like marble to me. Cold, hard, pristine, distant and sharp. Others you are a brand new quilt. Warm, soft, white, fluffy, squeezable and appetizing. I feel what I don't want to feel. I feel that there are things that have to come out without having to name them. I feel that if I don't speak you don't feel. I feel like you come and go. I feel less importance than I have. I feel like sometimes I don't anymore. And above all, naming what I feel makes me feel bad. I'm sorry. You want to not stand the tickle of your hairs on your nose. I want to feel your arm passing under mine to grab my chest. Want to feel your desire. I feel it like that. I'm sorry.

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