You're so sensitive, I am, I am a machine.

I heard from one roommate that I was finally around long enough to benefit from you really getting over your ex.

Then from your sister that she loved us together because we both seemed so happy all the time.

Another roommate encouraged me to give you a reason to love this town again.

A close friend and fraternity brother referred to me as “The Girl” because he had heard of us, and told me that you had a good heart, but a need to keep moving.

That same friends companion said she noticed you were happier, more sociable, and that she came to find out you had a met a girl, me.

A friend back in town to visit seemed surprised to see that I was still around.

You maintain that you aren’t in a place to be anyones boyfriend, because there’s a void in you that longs for the big cities.

I digress, because I see for myself that your are happier, in the songs you sing, in the way you kiss me, the way you hold my gaze, and my hands. The natural sense of comfort we have no matter who is around. So even if you go, I’ll just be waiting to hear that you’re coming back.

I really wish you were.

Then you would know I was thinking that I love you.

And that’s all I could think.

I’m overwhelmingly glad that we met, overwhelmingly sad that soon you’ll be gone.

I care.

A lot.

Or sometimes, not at all.

I don’t seem to have that gray area where I can step in and out, or let go of something without feeling a total loss. I either devastate myself, or just fail to even take note.

I sort of hate that it feels wrong when I sleep on the far side of my bed…because I know its where you belong.

I sort of hate making breakfast by myself because its more fun with you.

I sort of hate watching tv alone because you aren’t there to curl up over my hip like you like to do.

I sort of hate going to parties without you, because you’ll always be my favorite dancer.

I sort of hate wearing your comfy pants I borrowed forever ago.

I sort of hate every song you’ve ever sang to me.

I sort of hate pepper because you attack everything you eat with it.

I sort of hate The Avett Brothers.

I sort of hate guitarists.

I sort of hate all the things that have me so completely jaded for you, because someday they’re really gonna hurt when you’re gone.

Someday you’re gonna be gone.

Because eventually everyone is gone.