We talk.
We just talk and play.
We've got the same feelings.
She likes some things I don't.
She's hard to get to sometimes.
"It's fine," "I don't care," "I'm pretty much used to it by now."
My face falls distressed.
Hers falls blank.
Uneasy expressions.
So many things in my head. So much I want to say, no way to get it out.
A sticky, irritable sensation.
It's enough.
I only want her.
I find myself almost to tears.
I want her to be happy.
My one ambition.
It's nine.
Depressed....
Next morning.
She's sweet.
Soft.
Bouquet of perfection.
Kissed.
Kind.
And we're back to where we loved again.
