I can't talk to anyone without sounding like I'm really unhappy with my situation. Fact is, I'm incredibly happy- painfully, sinfully so. The only time things seem to sink is when the exchange of words begins to slow- even disappear.
But I love you. I know you might say it to my face, that's nice; that's wonderful. But once I'm gone, I'll hardly hear it. When I'm gone is when I want to hear it the most. Even I miss you. I'd love to hear that. I'd love for you to say it first, then I know I wasn't the one who prompted the small sentence. I'm sure you know, or maybe you don't, but not hearing these things every once in a while makes me wonder if you're even feeling them.
But how can I convince you I'm happy?
Ooo, that word.
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