Luke.

I want someone to wrap their arms around me when I say "no honestly, I'm fine" even though I'm not. I want someone to kiss my forehead when they hold me and never ever want to let me go. I want someone who finishes my sentences, giggles with me and makes me a happier version of myself. Who playfully shouts at me and is the only one I'd ever let tickle me and not punch in the face. I want someone who loves and appreciates me and never makes me feel anything less than worthy. 

And I have all that with you. 

Hectic holidays.

So, it's Friday morning. My mind is working in a stressy overdrive mode. And I'm neglecting any form of writing whatsoever lately. Wrapped up in too much sleep, the rubbish british summer, and my lovely boyfriend, writing has just been pushed back underneath everything. Oh, and to tell the truth, I'm a bit uninspired. I'm stuck with regards to writing. And now, holiday planning is running wild. Me and seven others, my family, are jetting off to menorca on Saturday afternoon, (yes, as in tomorrow afternoon.) Note these things:

1. We aren't packed.

2. We have no holiday money

3. The holiday docs for our details are somewhat vague. 

That's a stressy start. I have a lot to do, and no time at all to do it in. My alarm is set for 7.30am, and I've got a list in my 'Notes' of things I must achieve tomorrow. All of which, I intend to have finished by early afternoon, for then, I have something vital to do. Oh yes, SOPPY ALERT...I'm off to see my boyfriend before we part for a week. Oh, and I'm telling myself I won't get all emotional and cry. (WHO AM I KIDDING?) 

Take a breath, Eleanor, god. Holidays aren't supposed to be THIS stressful. Jeeeeeez. 

Nothing like it.

Curled up in bed together, the rain cascading down the window pane fervently. My head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat and strumming along to the familiar, comforting thud with my forefinger. I smile, and you feel my cheek swell, a tell-tale sign. An eyelash strokes your cheek every once in a while and you laugh, or giggle, as it tickles ever so slightly. The way you smell seems to drift onto me for hours after we've left one another, and for that I'm always thankful. A tear to be shed when we part next. Difficulty, if only temporary. I feel like there will be an aching void in my chest for eight days without catching a glimpse of your cheeky grin and deep eyes. I well up just thinking about it. Clutching hands say goodbye, salty tears like the raindrops, cascading, yet, speedier, gloomier, more heartfelt. I hug your pillows, taking in the scent, they smell of you. Familiar, safe, my happy place. The one I'll leave tomorrow night, and return to next Sunday, with brand-spanking new holiday snaps and a topped-up tan! Slap a smile on, Ellie, you're supposed to be excited.

#homesickalready 

Inside my head.

Long days and longer nights. Sleepy eyes and half-hearted smiles to keep you warm when inwardly, that grin has you glowing. Absence and unity, through a slight touch. That's all it takes. It's electric. Your heart skips three beats instead of one. Your breath isn't ever fully caught around them. You bite your lip, you stifle your laughter for it to burst out when you least expect it and frightens both of you. Every touch and you jump, flinch, draw back, just for a second. It tickles, and yet, it's a wonderful feeling. Catching a gaze, a raised brow, a slight movement and something beneath your ribcage begins to react like you can't even imagine. Someone who makes you happier by just breathing near you, being an arm's length away. Someone to shout at, laugh with and be yourself around. The one person who expects not one, but one hundred drunk texts from you. Every. Single. Weekend.

This is for you, and the ego you claim not to possess. It's mad to me, that notion.  You are entwined with my brainwaves and my body clock. I check my phone for your name every five seconds or three minutes, or every time I wake up. You shouldn't just have an ego, you should have the biggest ego in the world. Or at least, I know you would if you could see inside my head, (as much as you really do get inside my head.) The best thing to ever happen to me, even if now, I find myself trailing off mid-sentence to think about you or something. This doesn't count, evidently. I'm comfortable around you, in a way I've never ever been with anyone. So, I guess you should feel pretty fucking special about that. Where's your ego Lukas? Well, it's hiding in my dark, twisted little mind as far as I'm concerned. A little place reserved for you. My happy place. (yes, my inner Pheebs is calling out, AGAIN.) 

I'm blank when you feel low or are all spent with confidence, because, I don't see you like that. If only you could see yourself through my eyes, I think it'd work wonders. I can't even put it into intelligible words or sentences, because frankly, you fuck with my head (in the best, most intense way possible) so sometimes, yeah, I can't string a thought together. I love that. Honestly, truthfully, undoubtedly, this is the happiest I've ever been. So, those doubts, well, hide them away, or shout them from the rooftops, but they're your own criticisms, not mine, and there's absolutely no need for them. You're none of those things in my eyes; you're my rock and my ego, so fair is fair- I guess I should be at least partly responsible for yours. I can work on that. ;)

Hello Ego. Welcome to my world. You'll fit right in. Trust me.

x