Mortal Sunshine

You would think after days of separation the reunion would be perfect. Not quite. It's strange, because I feel like it's my fault, like I approach the period with a level of pessimism that effects its doom. It was only supposed to be a few hours, couldn't it end as well as it began?

It almost did. In fact it was going great. But in the back of my mind I kept feeling the pressure of having to say everything that I wanted to, and to recount every story that I came across in our time apart. And a part of me just wanted to scream because I couldn't stand the fact that time was not on my side. Once again day turned to night in the blink of an eye.

But even that I could bare, if I were guaranteed that it would all be good times. Not quite. It always amazes me how quickly laughter and happiness can be turned upside down by a couple wrong words, and suddenly it's a glum trip home. I wish I could prevent it, but at times it seems inevitable.

I refuse to believe that I'm asking for too much. All I want is to not feel that pressure to say all, and feel all, and encounter all my emotions, laughter to tears and everything between, in a quarter of a day. I don't expect anyone to understand; I don't get it myself.