These limbs have shied away from too much social interaction after she restarted my heart. The level of production of writing and all other projects ceased with the weeks of rain a month ago. My mind begs to do so much which makes me get nothing done. Little by little, the skills I attempt increase.

This post might not be needed. I wasn’t sure whether I was going to write another one in addition to the four, but I felt I didn’t provide any closure on how the situation seems to be (as little as there is). Either way, if you read this blog you like to listen to me talk about myself, so I’m sure it doesn’t matter.

Every time I see Emily, she uplifts my spirits dramatically; this can be a horrid thing. Whenever I leave her presence, my mood can only stay so high for moments before dropping lower than before. A smile or a wave can break me away from the harsh depression that none can see through or into. After I taste grace, my insecurities become all that evident. I wonder how I could be good enough or why I’m not.

So, many times after I’m not around her, I’ll droop and wish I could spend more time with her. Part of me wishes this would go away; I’ve said many times that I’m going to get over her. I really don’t want that– perhaps, that is the problem. Every time I see her, anything I said about not caring dissipates as do any problems the world throws at me. Don’t get the idea that I become careless. It’s far from that. I just get the feeling that everything is going to be okay as long as I’m around her. Hope magnifies.

The weekend after the panic attack had me saying that I was giving up. I sat around until the next Wednesday, hoping I’d get courage to tell her; I’m a fool and have a crush, and that’s why it’s awkward to be around me. You might be wondering whether I did have a conversation with her. Do you not know me by now? I’ve given myself the same advice everyone else tries to give me. It’s not going to work.

I rode my bike up to the Dusty Star, noticing how flat the back tire got as it pressed my weight to the ground. It took a good fifteen minutes in the scorching Florida weather, but I made it alive. The barista didn’t stand behind the counter, she had to have been doing something in the back. I sat on a stool to wait while customers climbed in the line. She looked at me, but never asked, if I wanted anything. I didn’t want anything in the first place, I just didn’t want to hang around without buying anything.

Emily passed by a few times, and I asked her how she was. I told her when she asked, but apparently I didn’t speak up. To this, she asked ‘are you good,’ and I did some combination of nodding and speaking. I can never be too sure around her. I hope she’s just shy around me; if she doesn’t want to speak to me, I’d rather have her tell me that. I went and sat outside; she passed by a couple of times and didn’t say anything. I went and sat somewhere else outside near the art gallery, and she passed by and walked into that. She didn’t look at me before she went in, but after she did she smiled at me. And, I left, melted.

And, here I sit, writing about a butterfly, an angel in human skin.