Smooth.

Sick.

Still.

I'm tired. I keep moving, but my head is up my ass. So sick of everything. I don't know what the fuck is going on. Dexter and I fight quite a bit, and I don't even know why. I don't know quite what we are fighting about. I know I could stop it quite a bit of the time, and I do. I just get so fed up sometimes. He tells me he is sick of taking care of me, and he does, and he is, but I feel likewise. And he knows it, and we both hate it. But as much as we each dislike living together, I love it way way more. And I think he does too. It's just hard to hide things when you're around someone twenty-four/seven. And we both have things to hide. Insecurity, past mistakes, pain, and lack of self-confidence bubble to the surface, and often. We need to learn how to avoid the bubbles bursting and spraying toxic filth onto our relationship or onto the divider between our neighbor's ears and our feet, mouths, and hands. I love him, and I can't take feeling on the verge of losing him. I'd miss him. So much. He just said he doesn't think I love him as much as he does me. He says these things sometimes. And it hurts me so much. He gets upset when I tell him it hurts me. It almost ignites a fight. I love him so much. I've spent the last six months (almost to the day) trying to tell him how much I love him. Until the biggest fight we've had, a few nights ago, I don't think I understood what love meant. I did that night, and I do now. He does too. And I need him. The guilt we feel when we are mean to each other is awful. It doesn't abate until we settle scores. Until we settle up. Until we fuck or talk or sleep or hug or kiss or drive or move or die. It hurts me so much when he says that he wants to break up, or that the only reason he stays with me is because we have an apartment that I mostly pay for and I support him sometimes. He says that, and it hurts me so much because I have never said anything like that to him. I've never called it my apartment, my stuff, my money, or my life. It has always been 'ours' to me.

But when the dust settles, and we apologize, or at least move on, the scenario turns into a mauve sunset or a beautiful skyling, a view that we never want to leave. So how does one reconcile these two ways of life?

I love him. More than he will ever know. And I'm sure he loves me (probably more than I will ever comprehend.) It's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel sometimes. I want to, but sometimes it seems like the only thing I can do is watch him leave me, or treat me like shit, or refuse to apologize or accept my apology. He takes responsibility for his actions most of the time, but it seems like these fights are out of reality or out of the things he can take account for. After the fights he says he didn't mean them, that he just said them to get me angry. But I never say them to him. And I am left having to wonder sometimes if there isn't a kernel of truth to these bits and pieces that slip out the sides of the snarl. And I'll let myself believe that it is all bullshit. Because that's what I want to believe. Because that's what he tells me. Because I love him, and I do believe that he loves me.

We've got so much time, so much time left, I don't need to feel like I'm about to hit the grave. We've got so much time left together. And I love it. I love believing that it'll all be together.