Eighty-Four

I've sat here since two wondering how you can sleep so easy. I would've taken a walk, but my George is lying next to me, and she can't wake with me gone-- she fell asleep, wishing that her father wasn't so sad. It's amusing how I want to be touched now, hugged, and comforted. I never used to before. I went it alone, sucking the pain in, toughing it out like a real punk, but now, I crave your hugs. When George's small hand fell on my thigh-- I let go, I didn't try to hold it in anymore. It's been so hard loving a woman who chooses to hurt--and in my pride and stupidity, I thought she loved me enough to let that go.