I feel like I'm in my own little world.

The trash needs to be taken out, groceries need to be bought, hair needs to be brushed.

But here we both are.

I sit here listing to a five hour loop of the weather channel from the 90's because I like the music. You are asleep in your bed states away, on the phone with me.

Your snores are the best part of the bridge. You woke up a little because I forgot to mute myself while I was eating breakfast and you called out to me in you dream state. I write about you a lot.

I write about you less than I want to.

I haven't shown you any of it yet.

I tell you about them and never send you links to here and you seem to understand.

I write you notes and send them to you on postcards and you send me the picture of the New Orleans postcard via your informed delivery. I put one of my favorite stamps on it for you.

You used to live there. You wanna take me there again. I want to go.

I staked you Instagram before we were dating for real. The day I almost said I love you over the phone, to see where you had been there.

I found the places you went while you lived there and my stomach filled up with butterflies when I passed them.

My mom has a strange sixth sense for who I like and who I don't like. She asked me who I was texting the entire time.

It was you. You were getting pictures of everything. My clothes and outfits, my drinks, pictures of people that just said "You know this guy???"

You talked about every one of them with me.

I'm not much of a hugger, when I got off my plane, you hugged me so tight and I felt so safe I almost melted into your arms.