I still need you and miss you, and I’m so so glad that we’re talking again. I know that if I were to go all emotional on you, you would break down and run away, like you did this April after we met up again.
You’re guarded, I get that. I hurt you so terribly that I can’t fathom why you would ever talk to me again, but you do. It’s been 562 days since you were mine. It’s been 13,488 hours that I’ve missed you. I’ve been without your snuggles for 809,280 minutes and it’s killing me slowly. 48,556,800 seconds have passed since my heart shattered.
Is that a long enough sentence? Can we slowly begin to rebuild, first as friends and then as soul mates? You say that you’ve forgiven me, that you miss me; is that only because I can’t possibly get to you right now? Would you still feel the same way if I was able to jump on a plane in an hour, to be next to you in three days?
Because I would if you would let me.
I know what you won’t admit to me, to yourself, to the people who hate me now for what I’ve done: You still love me.
48,556,800 is a lot of seconds, and I know that you’ve spent every moment- sleeping or waking- feeling Too much love for your science to handle.
I love you and I hope against hope that the universe is going to get something right.
You know how it is, right, ladies? You know a guy for a while. You hang out with him. You do fun things with him—play video games, watch movies, go hiking, go to concerts. You invite him to your parties. You listen to his problems. You do all this because you think he…