I should be working on something else: screenplay, resume, dinner, a cleaner apartment. But I enjoy this, this thinking of you and us and we. Maybe I would have been more productive the past five weeks had we not met. The fucking truth is that that's just crap. I make lists and have dreams and plan goals but rarely act. So you've stopped nothing. In fact, I can feel you pushing me gently toward the things I want (just like you're supposed to). I tell you my ideas and you eagerly aid and abet. Love it. Love every damn thing about it.
If I get moody and quiet at your mention of something I want for myself, ignore it. That would be my natural tendency to lie back and let life wash over me. I get scared, still. I used to be afraid of everything. Newness and change especially, even the good kind. Even with all my progress I fear the challenge of something different. I wholeheartedly understand insecurity; the deeply rooted feeling that I just cannot be good enough, cannot live up to my desires. I admit a certain lack of ambition. My greatest successes only in my mind's eye. Right now my thoughts are more firmly planted in your reality. Thank God you are a part of my reality.
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