Catching feelings

I hate catching feelings.

I really, really do.

I mean, I guess I like a lot of things about it: I like that I begin to look forward to mornings just as I do to nights when you’d tell me good night or when I wake up to your singsong-y voice. I like that I can talk to you about anything (not everything) and it can be incredibly gross, or hilarious, or sad, or shallow, and you will respond accordingly — laughter, even more laughter, silent empathy, laughter.

We laugh too much.

That first time we had a call was the longest I’ve laughed in a while.

I really, really hate catching feelings.

I hate how there’s always a smile creeping below the surface now, a kind of assuredness that accompanies a subtle “I’m here” disguised as “What are you up to?”, “Tell me about your day!”, “Don’t forget to drink water.”

Catching feelings is the worst.

But sometimes I really, really like it, too.

(P.S. The thing I love most about catching feelings is when I realise they’re feelings, and then throwing them away. Usually through one very particular method: writing.)