Melancholy

mel·an·chol·y

 (mĕl′ən-kŏl′ē)

n.

    1. Sadness or depression of the spirits; gloom.
    2. Pensive reflection or contemplation.

I’m feeling rather melancholic today.  I’ve been listening to Townes Van Zandt a good deal.  I should really stop but I can’t.  So I won’t.

It’s all sad, gray, gloom.  The weather is even sad, gray, gloom.  I love sad, gray, gloom weather and I could handle sad, gray, gloom melancholy if you were still around.  It’s ok that you’re not so don’t go feeling bad about that.  I just miss you.

We had an almost tornado last night.  We were in the pantry with our helmets and pillows.  It eventually veered north but not before it caused me to genuinely worry.  I’m super talented at worrying.  Like if there was an award, I’d get it.

I worry about you all the time.  But not in an annoying way like “god, why am I worrying about this dude, ugh.”  More in a “damn I really hope he’s feeling alright and I wish I could make him feel better” kind of way.

I do wish that.

Max’s Christmas program is tomorrow.  I’ll try not to think about straddling you in a kitchen chair (god, I’m so inappropriate!) wearing only your discarded t-shirt from beside the bed; your musk all over it.

Oh, who am I kidding?  I’m gonna think about exactly that.  I think of exactly that all the time.  I want to straddle your lap, put my hands on your face, take your bottom lip between mine and suck it, swirl my tongue around it.  Your hands on my waist; you stiffening between my legs; Nina on the stereo:

Later, I’d tidy up your beard for you while I cooked you breakfast.

Well, hell.  That took an unexpected turn.  Strangely enough, I feel a little less melancholic now.  I know you don’t mind either so I’m not apologizing.  The thought of you still turns me on.  I am totally and completely wrecked over you.

In case you could use someone telling you this: you’re completely hot in every way…mind, body, soul.

Everything the same.

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