Daniel

So, he's been confusing again. I think we're back to be. Whatever. He never says what he expects us to be. He says he loves me, like it gives all answers ever needed, and then says "Of course, that mends anything."

I'm one of the things he can't live without, and there are very few. His brother and cigarettes finish the short list. I don't know what I'm equaled to. I'm a bad habit, or his other half? That's how he qualifies the other two. Or I'm something else entirely, perhaps.

He just brings me flowers, reads me his creepy histories, holds my hand and smiles rarely. I've known him forever. I know he's thinking again, and that's never good for him.