I’m in bed waiting for you to get here. I’m expecting you any minute, although I haven’t asked if you’re coming or not. If I ask I feel like I’ll be bothering you. And if I don’t, I’ll be waiting for nothing, and be disappointed when you don’t show up, even if you had no intention of coming. So I’ve propped myself up at the perfect angle to casually glance out the window every thirty seconds, checking for your car in front of my house. 

In other news, I’ve created an almost perfect mix cd. I’ve been listening to it on repeat for a few days. I feel like I could do an excellent job of selecting soundtracks for movies. Or I could direct music videos. When I listen to music I always imagine what would take place while this song is playing. 

You’re not texting me back, which maybe means you’re driving, but it also maybe means you’re with other people, and then it could also maybe mean you don’t feel like talking. Shit, someday you’re going to realize that this is how I think, and you will be alarmed and wonder about my mental stability.