Pouting

I'm pouting. I'm tired and he's going to Vancouver this week and I'm going to miss him. It's not like it will be very different from a regular week. I didn't see him at all last week because we were both so busy. I don't even necessarily need him to call me although that would be nice. I'm wearing his sweater and it smells like him so I'm going to wear it to bed.

I've decided that ignorance is bliss as far as B is concerned. If he met someone or cheated or decided that he is in fact gay, I don't want to know. I'm happy for the entire thing to remain a mystery. Better that than the unanswered questions of "why wasn't I good enough?" if he has met someone else. Not that I care. I don't. I just don't need any additional baggage. I am thankful that he made it so easy for him to walk away and not feel guilty about caring so deeply about someone else so soon.

I've decided to call him Grey. Grey skies. Grey sweaters. Greyscale - in the black and white photo of us on my desk next to my lucky bamboo birthday gift. They make me happy and so does he with his receding salt and pepper hair. He got a hair cut today at the mall while I went off to Crappy Tire to buy ice cube trays and quarter rolls for him. I think I'm in love with him.