I hate that we don’t know how to talk to each other about our emotions. I hate everything that has happened between you and I in the past few months, without any words exchanged. I hate every feeling I had that I didn’t share, and every misunderstanding we still don’t have figured out.
But, I loved to feel you squeeze me so fucking tightly against you as we laid naked on my cold, tile floor. I don’t know where this is going to go, nor do I know where it should but god fucking damn it I need the balls to talk to you about us.
