I sit on my broken down couch drinking coffee with extra caffeine, staring at mountains of laundry and toys everywhere, feeling guilty about the fact that I’m sitting when I have an endless abyss of dishes in my kitchen and I should be doing something else
My river of creativity is dried out and my s/o is choosing to be upset about something that truly is no more a big deal than spilled milk (of it was choccy milk I’d understand) and I’m trying to be more understanding but I just don’t.
I am a person who loves being touchy feely, but who also can’t stand being touchy feely. I love to cuddle but can’t stand breathing in someone else’s used breath
I didn’t feel like being touched and this has caused so much. And my explanation just isn’t enough somehow. He lives in the past and has a difficult time moving forward
Which I understand because that was me once upon a time but I grew out of it, resembling the tallest sunflower in a field of decay
I’m trying to help you grow but you won’t budge from your past, You want to stay
