I wouldn't call it love just yet.
In fact, I'd rather call just two strangers mashed together by the fateful teeth of life.
Both so very alone, both so very emotionally charged.
Yet for each of our spark plugs is an outlet that brings us closer together, a sense of security that feels right.
Right in a way that cannot be explained, right in a way that has never before been put into words.
In fact, I struggle.
In fact, I still have to catch myself from falling deeper into infatuation every time you talk, breathe, laugh or say my name.
It's pathetic, I'm so very pathetic.
Here I am, fawning over you while the seeping residue of other lovers remains on my hands.
My heart remains on my sleeve yet when a name flashes up on my phone, my heart drops.
I have doubts.
I have doubts about my fidelity, yours..ours.
Is anything ours?
What can we call ours when we cannot look at one another and say it is our own?
Maybe I'm kidding myself into feeling passion yet what is the longing that I have?
Help.