I made dinner today.
The kind I usually only make for you.
There ended up being far too much for me to eat alone.
Almost double that of a regular portion.

I do not wish to be...clingy.
But sometimes, it feels as though my love for you
is so strong that I am choking on it.
Clutching, clawing at my throat, gasping, grasping, begging, wheezing.

Our favourite show was on the TV.
I say that, as if it came on out of the blue. A coincidence. It did not. I put it on.
I put our favourite show on.
And I thought about you.
(And thought, And thought, And thought, And thought, And-)

I feel that, perhaps, 'clingy' is not the worst I could be.

Tomorrow evening, I will make dinner.
That is generally how these things go.
And tomorrow evening, too, I will think of you.
The same as I will when I first wake up.
I will talk to you, we will text, as lovers do nowadays.
I will, likely, not tell you that I am thinking of you.
I hope you will know, anyway.

I hope, I think, that you do not mind the way I am.
That you will also think of me.
I do not expect that you will choke in the way I so often do.
It is not something I would wish for you.
Unreasonably, perhaps, part of me does. But this is not something I would ever expect.
It would be unkind.

Possibly, I hope you do not mind me thinking unkindly, sometimes.
Not always, not often. I try to avoid it, where I can. Selfishness.
But it cannot always be helped.

And so, I will watch our show.
Tomorrow, I will make dinner. The day after, too.