He keeps moving things. Touching things. His shoes are everywhere. There are cards and cords and foreign objects all about my bedroom. I'm trying not to be a neurotic mess, but honestly, I'm having a hard time.
And the kissing! He's not really kissing me. Have we missed our window? Did we have a window? We missed it! It feels like somewhere these last four months, this time apart, something shifted. I think I've closed myself to him.
He's chivalrous and well-spoken and quite a lovely height, but I'm not sure it's going according to plan. It's not him, it's me?
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