I leave his house on a high, one that I get from simply being in his presence. We’ve shared each other’s company too many nights to count, each time seeming better than the last. Ironically, he’s been one of the most inconsistent consistent “things” in my life this past year. Even the fall outs end in a mind-blowing reunion. I’m (coming really close to) accepting the fact I’ll never get the chance to see that side of him. The jokes and sex and blunts and conversations really all add up to nothing as I lay in bed alone. But who am I kidding? He’s damn near perfect & I’m nothing but a self-conscious, insecure wreck.