05 October 2015

notes on notes on notes

I'm not too sure what happens a week from today.
I am not too sure what I feel like when I'm standing outside waiting to see your face walking toward mine. I am not too sure how that is going to sit in my chest.
And I've acted it out in my head, in front of the mirror. in the shower. And each time I twist my hands and pull my hair and squint my eyes and say over and over "if you don't breathe, stephanie...for fucks sake you're going to pass out."
Because for as much as I have wanted this... I never really thought it through. I never really thought about it being actual. I never really planned on it. I never really marked it on a calendar--Dinner with E.
I never.

What's weird is I wrote this letter.
Something short.
Something sweet.
Asking for this a week before you asked me.
Talking about this being a good idea.
Saying how enough time has passed and it feels necessary.
I put it out there.
I got it back

And I can't wait to say everything.
Even though I know I'll probably say nothing.
And I through any expectations off the bridge months ago. Long before that phone call.

Don't worry.

So I sat outside on sun fulled patios with strong females and talked about it. And those who know and those who don't...well both said "Just make sure you wear a killer outfit."

Enough said. I suppose.

7 days.


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