A smile crept upon my face in the middle of a great argument with a group of people, because he'd texted me a simple 'i miss you'. I was thinking about our talk from last night while riding my bike, and giggling wide toothed-ly to the sky. He'd never failed to make me happy. He'd always convinced me into being good and healthy. And, out of everyone, I had chosen to listen to him, for real. He was always on my mind. I always wanted to talk to/about him. Staying away was crazy. I needed to see him each day, just to feel complete. We hardly talked when we crossed each other at college. But my day started in anticipation of that brief exchange. he would say he'll cross miles just to be with me and it made him really sad if I was unhappy. He sort of never said he loved me, except in passing when he was drunk. I never did, too. But it was often on my mind, the subject of him, the adhering looming question of whether I loved him. And I thought I did. Because we never failed to make each other happy. But i think that's not love. It was so self focused. I needed him to be happy. i needed him to make me happy. It was too needy and obsessive. And unhealthy. And I don't think that's how Love is supposed to be. Or is that? I was going down in this relentless eternal vicious abyss of a confusion.
