Crazy.

My interpersonal communication skills are lackluster. The combination of my perpetual fear of judgment and my inability to recognize and respond to emotion probably makes being in a relationship with me borderline impossible. I'm likely to dodge personal questions, confessions of love and other invasive maneuvers with a response thinly veiled by some form of sarcasm or wit. He knows this and likes to use it to his advantage. I'm not sure whether my insecurity is so recognizable to him because he is some sort of clairvoyant or because he recognizes the same weakness within him. It isn't like I always try to be this way, there are so many times where the actual words I wanted to say occur to me hours after the conversation is over. It is some sort of defense mechanism that I can't turn off. I can't even muster the courage to tell him how I feel about him because I'm so afraid of what his response might be. I can't manage to decide what would be worse, rejection or acceptance.

I was thinking about all of this last night. I purposely clung to the edge of the bed, staring upwards at the dark ceiling, pretending to sleep but occasionally sighing dramatically, pathetically hoping that he might notice and ask me what was wrong. He didn't or maybe he did and I finally gave in, talked myself out of my delusions and climbed my way across the bed and assumed the standard entangled sleeping position, the one where I'm nearly sure I'm crushing him but if I attempt to move or roll over he tightens his embrace in a silent refusal to let me go. As I rested my head on his chest he said, "Better" and I smiled in the dark and fell fast asleep.