all kinds of hungry I am not docile. I'm patient. I'm China. I don't mind being underestimated. Or overestimated. And I like chopsticks. I'm not China, I'm Bhutan. I don't measure gross domestic product, I measure gross national happiness. And I'm a carbon sink. I'm a pebble. Please keep me. Honey, it's summer-- and you're melting and tired. And you want to sleep off the heat. I'm like that in the cold. I understand. And I understand that it's not your fault you're far away. You have big dreams that you're making into big plans. And I'm stupid. Sometimes I forget that it's not just a project, it's part of your heart. And I'd hate myself if I felt like I discouraged you. I understand that you don't want to burden me and you're filtering and sharing only the big things. And I appreciate that and I'm sorry if I didn't show that enough. I just miss the little things. I love those little things I keep listing. Because the little things make me feel like I'm living with you. The big things feel like updates that you're sending on your holiday from me. I just started feeling I had a good grip on your hand--and now you're slipping away in the humidity and your new schedule. Burden me. I miss you in this hungry, cavernous, one minute from adhan el maghreb in Ramadan kind of way. Which is scary enough as it is without worrying that it'll scare you away. It's silly. I trust you and I trust my head. I can't believe I was afraid to be busy. I wish I knew how to love you and be myself-- I want to be the best version of whomever that may be And I want ice cream. |