i read an article in national geographic on a study which found that the chemicals our brain produces when we are in love are similar to those produced by a chemical imbalance. and maybe that's why right now i feel the most sane i have in the past few days, maybe that's why i'm finally calm as i sit here. i hate that the countdown is back up to 31, that we'll invariably have all the usual highs & lows in the next few months. i hate that i have to crawl into bed tonight alone. stuffed animals are poor substitutes. i hate that no amount of time spent on the phone can compare with the physicality of being there & saying nothing. i hate that a couple of weeks without him makes it too easy to forget the urgent desire i can feel in his presence. i hate the distance, always have, but each brief haitus only makes me hate it more, only makes the promise of an indefinite us more necessary & inviting.

when you emerged from terminal two i found myself struck by the little idiosyncrises - the way you carried yourself, the freshness of your haircut, your wonderfully predictable facial expressions. it seems so silly that i could forget these things and the effect they have on me, that i could lose my grasp on the singularity of you&me. but i do. and every time i remember it's like i'm falling in love all over again. being with him like this makes me irrational. the anxiety i feel when he's gone is only trumped by the anxiety i feel when he's with me, because having him near makes me fear the inevitable return to 'normalcy'. it makes me dread our impending farewell.

it can turn simply looking at him into a delirious derivative of masochism, can turn a glorious weekend into a weapon - a sharp reminder of what i'm forced to go without for the thirty-some-odd days between our weekends. and when he's gone, i can only distract myself for so long. but at this point i'm much more used to this. it's awful and so backwards that sometimes the burden can actually feel like a reprieve. but until we get to be continuous, until each day is our monotony, i don't know how to not feel frantic and short of breath in your presence. it's all far too fleeting, and we're far too perfect to be this precarious, far too functional to be this foreign, far too important to be this rare.