We met up last night. It started out great. My hand, resting on your leg, slowly moves to your back, under your shirt.

Touching you is everything. Dancing with you to some bachata, or the likes of it. We went to dance and we did.

I love you. You know this to be true. But we just don't work, do we?

I told you that I would still want you because your eyes would still be your eyes, your nose would still be your nose and your lips would still be your lips... even if you were to stop working out. Even if your perfect body were not so perfect. I'd be forever mesmerized by those three things.

In exactly one month, we'll have two years. TWO YEARS since this all began.

Tangled in Sacramento.

Tangled in L.A.

But inevitably, we just don't work. But I love you still.

11:58 a.m. - 2019-12-07