I wish I didn't love so much the silent warmth just after the sound of your alarm clock; the intense closeness under blankets against the remains of the night frost coming in through the window.

I wish it wasn't so hard for me to acknowledge how that satisfies me more than the cheaper forms of intimacy.

I wish I knew why I keep choosing this.

I wish I never spoke to anyone or let them in on who I am: I don't know where anything is going, and I don't want to hurt others while I continue to hurt over you.

Goddamnit, October.