pocketbrit and i have been having a really hard time lately.
on our own, and together. it’s been really, really shit. activated all kinds of old stuff for both of us, made us angry and triggered and lashy-outy and lonely and so so sad.
it has been killing me lately that i can’t just jump in my car and drive to where she is. show up at her work, or her flat, with dinner or a bottle of gin or just my physical self to remind us we’re not alone.
and yeah, maybe it wouldn’t make it better. maybe i would be too proud to do it, or maybe she wouldn’t answer the door if i came knocking, after one of my famous royal fuck ups. i don’t know. but it’s really hard to have her so far. i wish i could drive to where she was. i wish she could drive to come find me.
written april 11/19, backdated