Keeping myself from barging in there is a Herculean feat. And it’s not even jealousy at this point, or concern for her safety, because I’m almost positive she’s alone in there. It’s that I’m finding I don’t like being away from her at all. I don’t know if it’s the need to make up for lost time, or if I’m just being a clingy bastard, but I’d rather be in there helping pack her stuff than standing out here overthinking every small particle of my life. And hers.
