1,000

I've been thinking incessantly about the concept, feeling and receiving of love; the real notion that one cares about another by whichever means. My dad spent three days and many hours getting my car out of that trench, he dug in the mud for me, dropped his plans, got a man to drive him there and tow it out. I didn't feel not an ounce of love from those actions, not until he said I should put a jacket on because it was below forty and I would freeze. Why must it be verbal? I'll take anything as rejection; he didn't respond to my gratitude, and seemed snappy when he said I had a lot left to do with my car. He knelt in the darkness attempting to perfect my bumper and I thought this meant he must resent me for being such an awful driver. On the opposing, I thought about her all weekend desiring to and anticipating seeing her on monday her day off. I wrote about her in my first class, and reflected about her for much of my third. I looked at pictures of her, I got jealous. I talked about her on three separate occasions and voiced to austin how badly I wanted her to come to lunch with us. I worried about what she thought about what I was doing sunday who I was talking to. I wondered if she cared at all. I drove past her house. I felt disappointed I did not hear from her once. I realized I never once called, she was altogether unaware.