Boundless Entries

You said 

She’s my newspaper with coffee. My morning dose of a thousand topics. Overwhelming. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

She’s my book on a beach trip. Even if I won’t read it I find comfort in having it there. My possible escape from any or all of it. 

She’s my midnight solo drive. I want it to last but not too long that I find despair in solitude. Not too long that I confess what I can’t take back. 

You said 

I can live without them all. The newspaper, the book, the drive. 

You said

I swear, I swear I can. 

You said 

I can, I just don’t want to. 

It made sense why being with someone is far from a state of being.

It’s this constant choice. It is choosing them every day. 

And choosing makes it all the more fragile. Yet all the more special. 

I said 

I think I like being the newspaper, the book and the midnight drive. 

Way more than your every breath, your forever, and your everything. 

I said 

I swear, I swear that’s true. 

There’s a realness in that I just never knew.