rosythewench

Cameron's birthday was on Saturday. His present from me were the tickets to Sigur Ros, but after a sort of sad evening the night before I decided to do something a bit more special. I bought some really delicious espresso fudge brownies from Starbucks, and surprised him with them. I made him sit in our stolen chair and cover his eyes while I turned out the light and lit one single candle. When he opened his eyes, I sang happy birthday really quietly and sat on his lap and gave him a kiss. He cried and held my cheeks and told me that I did the best job of everyone on his birthday, and blew out the candle and made a wish. We ate our brownies in the dark and talked about love and life and college and promises, and the entire time I just wanted him to scoop me up and take me away and play with my hair the way he does after we've been together, twirling it in his fingers and making my spine tingle. He's afraid of me, I can see it. I'm tangled up in this one and god, I love him and it hurts but I don't know what to do. He was supposed to sleep over but he went home instead, and I read into it too much. I walked him to the door and held his wrist and pressed into his neck and wanted to cry; actually cried but hid the tears. I'm such a fool for this one, I know it. I can't tell him how I feel because I'm scared, too. He's scared that I'll hurt him and I'm scared that I'm hurting myself and it's like drowning--you open your mouth underwater and suck in nothing but air, your vision blurring and your heart winding slowly to a stop.

I don't really get along with the girls here and that makes things difficult. I'm much healthier in my head when I can share things with someone, pour my deepest feelings into something that isn't an electronic box and an invisible audience. I need someone that I can confide in, some version of Christen or Brooke or Ali that will hold my hand and let me cry. I cried by myself in my room after Cameron left last night, partly because I was lonely and partly because I was not brave.

I love this city and hate it, too. I love the freedom and the sunsets, I love the smell of it all and the way the sidewalks feel under my flip flops. But I hate the emptiness of it all, and I hate the way that Lake Michigan isn't the ocean, and that I have to start over. No one appreciates my music, really. I miss that. Things were going so well but all of a sudden--I just want to be curled up in my room, pressed against the sheets and clutching at Greg's hand, making up for all of the things we never told one another and never really admitted to ourselves. There was certainty in all of that. It's the routine that gets to you, the not knowing how and where and when everything will happen.

I am homesick.