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2006-01-05 - 10:52 p.m.

There are lines drawn, lines inside of me that I know, when we talk, that she mentions, that just hurt.
Lines of topics that I want to chase down in the forest and tree. I want hounds baying and a shot gun.
I get jealous. I will admit it. I get jealous and I get scared. Scared that she'll realize that these people matter more than me, that I'll just become this distant, vague irritant of a memory and that she'll run off into the sunset with them in some kind of horrible Kodak moment. At Disney Land. With name brand ice-cream and full-breed puppies.

It's absolutely fucking ridiculous, I know.

Last night, in the bed where we used to sleep, all I could think about was how she used to curl up against me and the dog would sleep by my head or climb under the covers and move beneath the sheets to sleep beside one of us.
I miss that. I miss that so much. I miss hearing her laugh and just fucking making her laugh.
Honestly? She does have the best smile I've ever seen.

She needs this, I know. She needs to prove something to herself, she needs to grow and mature and do that on her own.
And despite what I have said, I have the utmost faith in her. She is strong and has a good heart. Here, here's something incredibly sappy and you can hate me: She has a good heart. She has two hearts. One of them, mine.

Blah, eh.

Ah fuck. I love her, you know?

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