Day 523.

I miss you. Are you reading this? I think you might be. I think you might check this regularly. You never mentioned it, not once, but I do believe you are a bit of an internet lurker.

I'm tired of missing you. I wish you missed me back. I wish you would call to say you miss me back. 

It's so hard to not turn the story of us into more proof that humans, and in particular, humans like us, are too sad and broken to sustainably connect. It's so hard not to make it into a story about how I should never reach out, reach for what I want, tell the truth, be free in the ways I am trying to convince myself I deserve to be . . . how I should never do that. Because it means an end to things. And it means I never get to have what I want (even if the "having" looks different than I thought or hoped it would.)