Restless Rover

I hope you'll forgive this distant intrusion, but I can't sleep much more than you, and the silence here is deafening. I needed to say something. Otherwise I'm just wearing a rut into the floors of this place.

I'm an idiot, from either angle. Either I really am, or I'm not, but then I am for thinking that I am. Different reason... same result.

I've spent almost my whole life on guard against pain. The pain of others, and yes, my own. Even accepting it was a guard, to some extent. A necessity, a lot of the time. It shaped me, turned me into some of the things I am now. But not... right now.

Right now I'm not guarding myself, and I feel like an idiot for it. For not wanting to. And there's more.

I feel like an idiot for still wanting to guard you. I know I don't have to, and I even know that I can't, but I can't seem to help it. I feel like I should, but I can't... I'm not. I don't want to, and I do.

This has nothing to do with me, I know that. It's not even analogous to people I've tried to guard in the past. I'm not drawing parallels, but the desire, I think, shouldn't be surprising:

You deserve to feel better than this.

Nobody imposed the feeling on you, it's one of the normal (if excruciating) experiences of life - but all that logic just isn't washing right now. It's there and it's not going away right now, and if I can't fix it, then I just want to feel it... with you.

But I know I don't understand. Not really. Not empathically, not fully. I always think that's the most important... I feel bad about falling short.

There's a chorus of pragmatists in my head (with real world voices and faces) telling me that there's no sense in having us both feel bad. I want to tell them to fuck off.

I guess there's just a handful of things I need to say, then I'll try and sign off.

I'm sorry. I was so conscious of this time for you, and I'm sorry if I over-thought it, or under-thought it, pried too much or gave you too much space (if I had my way I'd be hugging you right now), and especially for writing this here where you might not read it, instead of calling (at this ungodly hour, even though I knew you were awake). But if I'd called, I'd be apologizing for intruding even more. It's just helpless, all around. I know.

I'm sorry for feeling like I had to do anything to deal with this - my end is not even comparable. But...

You're important to me. So, everything about you is also important to me. Because (parce-ce que...) I feel in my bones (like I have about a few other very important things before) that it's the only right thing to do. It's the truth. It's how things are. It's me.

Parce-ce que...

The reason is all over this place. It's true.

Rest well. I'll try not to worry too much. And thank you. I'll explain why sometime.