Miles To Go Before I Sleep

IJH is all that I could ask for in a boyfriend. I can't put it more simply than that, or express myself any clearer. I absolutely, positively, and completely HATE that he lives an hour away. I shouldn't even complain, because that's not that far, but with our busy schedules we're lucky to see each other twice a week. He's miles and miles and miles away when all I want is for him to be right beside me. It's selfish, but selfishness isn't a bad thing all the time.

In other news, I'm moving into my apartment this week with my best friend. She and I are super excited to have a place to call our own, and I'm beyond happy to have a sanctuary away from my family that is mine year-round. Don't get me wrong, I love my family to pieces, but they drive me completely batty sometimes.

I'm nervous about being on my own for the first time. Am I going to be able to budget well? Am I going to be able to cook for myself all the time and take care of everything? Will V (my roommate) and I get along well enough to live together, just the two of us?

It's all so much to take in, but I won't know what's going to happen until I get settled.

Hopefully the change of scenery will inspire my writing and reading more. It's not that I don't have good intentions to read (or write), but something seems to constantly come up or distract me. I have to get more serious if I'm going to get into grad school. I don't even want to think about everything I have to do between now and grad school, and what that's going to mean for my personal life. There's so much that can happen between then and now.

I told IJH that I would share one of my poems with him last night, and I haven't sent it yet. I'm worried he'll think it's about him and not just inspired by his presence in my life. I guess once it's online I can't take it back and that will force me to show it to him. Somehow. Maybe I just want to show off my writing.

snickerdoodle

You had cinnamon on the bottoms

of your feet, the same ones

that curled next to mine,

and you stomped across the carpet.

damnit, that’s new, I said

and you shook your head,

ran short fingers through

my favorite blond hair,

and washed your feet before bed.

I was sitting on the carpet

in the living room, last night,

and I could feel the cinnamon

still embedded

in the fibers,

itching my legs.

I crawled into bed,

coated in cinnamon,

and pretended that was close

enough.

It's alright, I guess. I wish it read a little bit better, but that's what editing and revisions are for. Right now, it gets the point across. I don't want him to leave, and I'm terrified of what will be left behind if he does. 

Enjoy the bad poetry until next time,

xoxo E.