The Air That I Breathe.

Me and Mr K. function in weird ways.

When we're together, we each do our own thing.

At a party, you'll never catch us sucking throat, being one of those annoying couples who are glued to each other and don't socialize with anyone.
Actually, it's way more likely that we'll each be with our friends, making fun of those couples.

When we go back to my parents', I catch up with my family while Mr K. keeps himself busy.
It already happened that my mum pulled me aside, concerned that maybe he was feeling excluded from me and my brother's inside jokes.

The same goes for when we're just chilling at home, one of us playing guitar while the other one leafs through a magazine.

We're very touchy feely, crazy loved up people but you wouldn't think so if you saw us interact with each other.
Come to think of it, most of our friends probably think that we're both quite independent and they would be right.
I love my boy to pieces but hey, I'm a big girl, I don't need to be hanging on his arm 24/7.


Weirdly enough, when we're separated, it all changes.
Mr K. runs around like a headless chicken and as for me, well, it feels like life is sucked out of me.

A couple of days ago, Mr K. started his summer job and I started planning what I would do while he was gone.
I printed out recipes, thought of hikes to go on with Bonnie and of how I would reorganize my closet.
And then, on monday morning Mr K. left for work and so did all my energy.

For the past three days, I've been hanging around our place doing n o t h i n g.
Actually, if I wanna be really honest, by hanging around our place I mean leaving my bed once a day to make myself a sandwich.
Without my boy, it's like I'm holding my breath all day, unable to do anything until he comes back and I can breathe properly again.

I look around the rooms, telling myself that I should range or at least clean a little but for that I would need energy and for that, I would need to feed myself properly which also requires energy that I just don't have.
Defeated, I retreat to my bed with whatever old chocolate I found in the depths of our pantry and I count how many episodes of bad reality tv shows I have to watch until he comes back.

Me pathetic ?
Pfffft !

x, K.

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