Solitaire

I try to hold all the cards and never show them. Because if you saw them they'd be scattered, out of order. I keep them facing inward because it always seems easier to know I'm if winning or losing in private. It's a secret I tell to just about anyone who will listen, but I keep my lips locked tight while we're playing.
My hands are too small to hold them all. I can't do it anymore. I'm working up the courage to lay some on the table before you.


I hope that you can make them add up into some combination that makes sense to us both.

The sun is out,

I had a lot written down in poorly formed metaphors I thought might hide the things I'm feeling well enough for me not to feel self conscious,

but fuck it.

I've been smiling more lately than I have in the past 4 years. That's not an exaggeration. I am excited about things. I'm in love with all of this.

...but

After every fit of giggles or quiet smiles to myself there is a familiar heaviness. And I hate you for that.