The room feels like it dropped ten degrees, but I'm sure it's just me.  I burrow further down into the covers.  That I can't be happy with him. You name it, it comes to life.  You can't be happy with him.  How is this possible?  I have all the ingredients.  Start with one yearning, desperate will do anything to please so she won't be alone girl, add a dash of handsome man, spoonful of love, bake at 375 degrees and BOOM, crème de happy.  Why isn't it working?

It's not to say I didn't try.  All I did was try.  I busted my ass trying.  I did all the work trying. 

I had love.  Why isn't love enough?  Was it not love?  What I think is love is not? It's been too long for this to be mere infatuation.  But I swear, every breath I have goes to him. Everything I felt, everything I was, everything I wanted to be went to him.  And I didn't get anything back.  No, not true.  I got some back.  But not near as much as what I gave him.  I got back maybe half.

And you can't really boil it down like that. 

I only got half back so it wasn't love and you're not worth it.  It's not an investment scheme.  Love is not a brokerage house.  That's not what I mean.  I mean… I know I'm good to you, because I know everything that I'm giving you.  When you're not giving it back, it feels like maybe I'm not worth it.  I'm not worth all of your breaths.  I don't know how much you feel.  I know I'm worth everything you have.  I don't know if you know.

It doesn't make sense.  We spent the night together.  Less than 12 hours ago, we were in this bed and he had his arms around me, and it was perfect.  It seemed perfect.  No, it was perfect.  Don't go revising stuff, talking yourself into stuff that isn't true.  Go with what you feel.  You can at least trust what you feel.  It should be the very least of what you can trust, what you feel.

And what I'm feeling right now, in the very same covers, the very same sheets, surrounded by the very same pillows that just twelve hours ago we shared perfectly together…