P has been nothing but good to me and I miss him every minute of every motherfucking day. And I don't want anything else in the world but to come home to him every night.

But I still think about B, and all the moments we had. My craziness that only he, up to this point, understands, because he can be just the same. The late cloudy afternoon runs and endless talks. The time he held my hand but I chose to let go before it even happened. The long bus rides, to and from our hometown. The lone times at one house party and another one. I felt it then. I know I didn't imagine them, the sparks.

I sometimes also think about F, His kiss, his skin. The way he makes me laugh. The silence. The way we hanged out like we were best friends, and more. His sweetness and sometimes, immaturity. I'd like to hang out with him again, as friends.