Our Hockey Season

To All I Do,

You and I, we were just sex, but I miss it. I miss the raw, need your body now sex. I miss the giggly, fun, couldn't stop laughing sex. I miss the why are we still doing this? Switch it up sex. I miss sitting on his couch and you practically pouncing on me when everyone had left the room for a minute. I miss arguing over who was going to be nice to who, who was going to wear the jersey, I miss arguing over what was in the Netflix cue. I miss being out and saying "let's go home."

So I don't talk about it, I let it go, let people think that it really was just sex. But our sex and our us was the most fun and stress-free anything I'd had in so long, that I'd grown to really care for it. I don't talk about our hockey season because our hockey season is over and as peaceful and friendly as the ending was, it feels like a breakup and a small part of me wants it back.

Until we smoke cigars,
-A

Too much

I'm too full, have too much love, and I want to be able to love somebody. Because if I maintain this much love in my system, contained and uncontrolled, it will irritate me and make me angry.

It's the worst when love makes you angry.

Somebody's hand to hold, somebody's eyes to stare into, somebody's voice to listen to, somebody to say good morning to.