Blog 12

God I miss him. I cannot describe how much my heart deteriorates after I leave him. He is the most amazing and outstanding person I've ever met, and I hate myself for being unable to see him so much more. I hate myself for not practicing driving, or for still being to afraid to illegally drive for hours on the freeway just to go see him, as I know no police officer would consider me a child from just a glance and I'd most likely be rendered safe. I wish I could leave this atmosphere on my own, with nothing but openness ahead until I meet him once again. My day is constantly bombarded with insanity and confusion until his voice finally delivered a dose of tranquility. I can only sit and imagine how much more tranquil an experience alone with no fear could be. No anxiety about who or what could see us, no fear of anyone turning a corner to see something they deemed wrong and have them tear apart my life in relation to him in just a few seconds. I feel selfish for allowing him to be so close at times as I know the risks being caught entails, but I just am unable to help myself. His peace is addicting. As many of you know I do not often get the luxury of feeling safe in the slightest, of being able to completely relax with no anxieties about what's to come or what already has. Once that safety is slightly out of reach I can never obtain from obtaining it. He offers me so much, but the safety in his arms and his smile may be the most cherished feelings his presence afflicts upon my heart. Once he is close I only struggle to refrain from getting closer. I push away all the fantasized visions of falling asleep on his shoulder, listening to him speak on whatever new randomized topic he seems to know so much about. I want so badly to lean into him with my entire self, entering a state of protection incomparable and undeserving of any definable label, as none describe it in its complete justice. I want to bury myself in his hugs, allowing the weight of my sickly body to cease for just a few breif minutes before I stand again. His strength institutes security in me that is incomparable to the protection provided by any other human in existence. I hide under my sheets and covers for safety, but I only find real comfort in the visual that someday such pressure while I sleep will be his arms. 

I laugh at the memory that I hid under the same covers speaking to the same person only months ago, but I had been filled with much more anxiety. During a time where I sat either at my desk or contorted on the floor so my cell phone would reach the charger, just so I would not need to end our calls. When I anticipatorily waited for the house to myself in the evenings, calling him as I peered out the window at the late summer sunsets. Playing handheld video games online no matter my level of nauseousness just because I wanted to spend time with him, and needed an excuse to do so. Our hilarious strange adventures in a pixelated virtual world that means nothing to anyone else still manifest as so meaningful to me, as I retrieve the memories of running out of tasks to do but pretending to be busy just so we could speak to one another. The memories of laying back and plugging my headphones in while my character was in an idle position scattered somewhere on the map- I could not have cared more about anything but talking to him alone. Having seemingly endless conversations until my father intruded long after the sun went down, only to rush my daily recap with him just so I could return to me and this beautiful boys calls. Still, I sit reminiscent of these memories whenever I am unable to speak to him- the memories of talking until seven in the morning, and only thinking about him and him alone as he slept and I went on with my day. I envision my same hands that now hold his stirring up a comfort dish of gluten free pasta just a year ago so I may eat my favorite dish while listening to my now-favorite person. His nervousness and my nervousness during our first few calls are feelings I will forever hold close to my heart. The memory of swimming till the whistle blew before rushing out of the pool to check my cellphone for his messages. The dwelling I did on each captivating photo of himself he sent me in the beginning, as I only had six of what is now the near hundred. I was alone for hours in the morning and hours in the evening, and during the times where he was not there I filled my time with nothing but daydreaming. Daydreams while cuddling against my large plushies on a couch, watching a horror I knew he'd enjoy and thinking about the funny remarks he might make about the dumb characters or painful gory scenes we both often found humorous. Daydreams while sitting outside in the heat staring at the first stuffed animal he had ever gotten me, trying to imaginatively project his presence onto it as I missed him so much after seeing him a second time. 

I still daydream against that poor frog, running my fingers through its interesting fiberous texture as if it was his hair. I hold it so close both while talking to him and while alone. I held it closer than I have held any human other than him during the nights where I could not speak to him while I resided up in the cold mountains of Tennessee. Excitement fills me when I observe the thought of going back in the upcoming fall, but the sadness that engulfs me for those few short days filled with fun but minimal telephone contact makes my heart want to turn me away from ever driving to the mountains again. Maybe some day he'll come with me, as I only dream of how ecstatic a six hour car ride next to him would be. The even stronger possibility of falling asleep on him as we arrived in exhaustion. The exhilarating idea of maybe being able to experience some of the peaceful wonders of the retreat together. The eliminated pressure of maybe somehow being seen by a parent of mine, with no one but understanding leaders to judge us. I get too ahead of myself. I daydream while I write, while I work, while I try to empty my mind and rest. I can never find a time where my heart is not set on thinking about him and imagining dumb scenarios. I know I have no right to feel this way and am in no way deserving of his love, but I cannot deny my feelings from myself as I am the only one they cannot be hidden from. There is no more plain way to state it than that I just long to be close to him. Any interaction I have with him is locked away in a tight emotional seal, but its lock is meaningless as I constantly open it to delight in these memories. He dwells so far from I, but his words of respectability somewhat manifest a spirit of himself right with me. I cry wanting so much that this spirit is only one day real. That I may turn to my side without fear or paranoia, and gaze up into his eyes in a bittersweet manner. That I may hold his hand and experience the atmosphere in its entirety, without the constant scanning of the room for my parents. Maybe if I drive, I can accomplish this. I just long so much to be alone with him without any angry individuals who may use my love for him against me. If he loves me this way, one day this may be possible. 

He is my world, and a world without him is no world I wish to live in. 

Alexi