we got home and he said, "i don't like it when you're so broken" because my back was hurting.

he doesn't know that all night it's been on the tip of my tongue: every day i think about how much happier i could be if i wasn't here.

sure, some days i am more convinced that i belong here than others, but the question comes to mind l i t e r a l l y every single day and tonight, sitting around with his friends, for five hours straight not really caring about anything, not really understanding any of what was said, it became painfully obvious.

lately i've been thinking that maybe i could be happy here, that i just had to decide that i was staying and then start looking at everything that way: start buying stuff for our apartment again, get myself a gym membership, finally get a cell phone with a contract, do the things you do when you know you're going to be living in one place for more than a few months. but a. and l.'s grandpa died today and i wasn't there to hug them, and talking about leaving the city where you're from made me unreasonably cranky, and... he's lying beside me and i'm writing this.

i could go on and on but i need to stop.