12.10.19 // I Think About You.

I think about you.
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Do you think about me too?
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I think about our stories.
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...the stories from the first night we met.
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Each word that the other spoke, we waited with bated breath and desperate anticipation to hear. We tried to hide our giddy grins behind subtle sips of frothy beers, but our eye contact gave way to each other's world. A dimension of our own, we fell into the stories about what we do, what we love, and where we are. The faces that past by our table merely swirls of color in an evening that was nothing but ours.
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... the stories from late nights spent together.
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Your arms pulled me in close as I gently rested my head on your chest. Our eyes closed but our whispers, wrapped in intimate details of our histories, drifted softly into each other's ears. Those were the histories and vulnerabilities that we hid for years behind thick walls to protect our hearts. The hearts we said were tough but were as fragile as those precious moments we spent wrapped in those blankets. The moments that past by our bed merely an illusion in nights that were nothing but ours.
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... the stories we told ourselves about who the other person was.
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Those high-intensity moments when we no longer made sense to each other and we let our assumptions run rampant. Our words no longer an explanation of ourselves and our ears no longer waiting with baited anticipation. Instead, the words that were spoken were filled with the stones from the walls we thought we tore down, but we were slowly building back up. The daggers which protected our hearts and were so peacefully taken down in those soft moments were thrown towards each other in spite, fear, and defense from our own minds and past-wounds playing tricks on us. The moments that were challenging and should have brought us together all but broke us until "ours" was but nothing.