from the inside to an outline

i felt an unusual contentment, it had been a while, but everything had sort of fallen into place in that moment, and i said so. you didn't respond so i said i was referring to my concern for the sleeping situation, and all of us being happy. i actually mostly was. you didn't seem as concerned, and maybe we're always worried about different things. i couldn't decipher whether your eyes were opened or closed because there were shadows, and i was so tired and it was mostly dark anyway. i never sleep on the inside of beds, and wondered then if it had to do with anything besides disturbing the person next to me when i get in and out. i don't really remember, but you smiled a little that i could see and i asked why and you replied that frankie was biting your hand as hard as he could, and i said it made sense and it did. and i had two things i was hoping to somehow get off my chest, as i often did. i try to while the other's mind is most the most befuddled (though you'd remember, and i said so). and i begin to tell you how austin went through my drawers looking for i guess, that electrical tape, and he left the one drawer open. and sitting right there was the page or two i wrote to you one day. i knew he didn't read it, i knew no one had, he likely didn't even see it. but out in the open was the most personal thing i had written down in a long time, and it wasn't about you, or the other person it was about, but i planned on what to say to you. i was going to say i was trying to justify you telling me to stop talking about what i was, one morning in south pine, and i was humiliated for myself and pretended not to be. and i wrote it down and worked it out and then felt good about it, because it's the only means by which i can understand. conclusively, you always mean well. so i couldn't quite tell you yet, and i just loved so fucking much you didn't ask after i said i didn't want to. no one does that. so i had a list later on of thoughts, and it was stupid but ended up telling you everything else (besides that). hesitantly, i wanted so sincerely to word correctly how lovable i thought you were in a real way, and it came out all afraid and wrong. though you accepted it, and took it correctly somehow any way and i was happy for that. so my head is full and my heart hurt cause calvin and lisa chose a movie with so much meager value and frivolous sentiment attached to it for me, and i couldn't help but explain that to you. and all i do is talk. but you listen. i don't know why you listen. and i said the night was rather epic and important. and asked if i could tell you the story. you were a silhouette and i was considerably a mess, but i'm fleetingly quiet, and extensively shy in that moment. you looked nice in or out of shadow. and i get unreasonably touchy when it gets late. my romantic account started much too early in the story, similarly to this, and my recollection was possibly adorned, and glorified, but was true nonetheless. at one point i say you know that feeling when you want someone to just hold your hand so badly but you're certain that they won't, and you want it just so bad you make it easily available any way. i tell the story in full, maintaining passion even subsequent to realizing you were no longer awake. it was off my chest which felt, like something, and i nearly ask if you're conscious at all, aware you were not. and i wish i wasn't scared with everything you find out, read, am told about, or that i tell you about myself. i'll constantly be preparing for some walk away, from all, but not while you are sleeping. you previously said i could wait longer until you were closer to falling asleep for my admittance, i said i would wait for the boys to fall asleep. the embarrassment is heavy and lingers, is it worth it. i hate so much sleeping alone. so my bedtime story was over and the contentment was just kind of back again, you were asleep and not going anywhere yet. for the first time i can recall, i did not worry my mundane babble did not bore someone to sleep. although can't shake the idea that i know they regret falling asleep where they did since they weren't sober at the time. i'm not so much of a morning person. (i pretend to sleep more than i can say) and i wake up with a dream of this maze, and i was working. i laid on my back and stared at the ceiling for longer than most could, just as i did before the brief sleep i woke up from. i remember being the first to leave, but this too was way back when. "that was a long time ago."