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Dear B,

Does love in your heart, like mine, ever shut off, sometimes? The faucet stops and you try to imagine the water that once flowed, but all you feel is dry? 

A husk. A heart-looking object with no love inside.

Do you ever ask yourself, "how do I know this is love? I feel stasis. Is this love?" And then you pinch yourself to jump-start the feelings again, but the car won't start. 

I spent the whole ride home imagining what it would be like to leave him. Where I'd go, how we'd divide friends, if I would feel sad. Would I? 

An episode of "Dear Sugar" talked about how there's enough pain and suffering in the world, why be with someone who brings you either? I ask, can you have love without pain and suffering? Doesn't all love turn into that, eventually? 

Maybe it's the stress of my job. Maybe it's my hormones. Maybe it's the pill. Or maybe it isn't love. 

All I know is, I crave myself. I fantasize about relying on myself. Having no burdens except the ones I bring on myself. 

Am I alone in this yearning? Am I alone in this questioning? 

Wish so badly you were here,

R