time to hope

I spoke with William yesterday for about 30 minutes before bed. It was a nice conversation about his aunt passing, my brother heading out for bootcamp, and how going to the grocery store isn't fun with his roommates ("strangers" he calls them) but is fun with me.

Today, 24 hours later, I'm still thinking about the phone call and how I wish I could talk to him every day. Correction, how I wish I could be with him every day. And because I can't get him out of my mind, I am ever more convinced that we can't be friends. Not now anyway. I need to move on because he is moving on.

With the death of his aunt, I can't help but question why we are both moving on. Why? I love him. He says he loves me, and time seems so short.

But he needs time. Things just got too bad. He upset me, and I upset him back. I pushed him too far away. He needs time to find his way back.

He sent me a text message a couple of weeks ago after we had our last discussion about "us." He asked how I knew what was going to happen in the future. I said that I didn't know, but I hoped. I hoped for us to be together. I hoped that we would find our way back to dinner in our kitchen, long walks with our dog, and adventures in growing old--together. He sent me a text message that night before he went to sleep that said, "I do hope." Why are we both wasting our time hoping when we could be working on making us work?