Growing Up

Yesterday was a dreadful fight. Or it would have been, if we fought. We disagree, and we have differing opinions, but we tend to voice our opinions, try to convince, and then just move on, solution or no. Sometimes that's really frustrating, as in the case of yesterday's "fight." Because we're so far apart, a good deal of the intimacy that we share comes from weeks and months of lead up via text. Thinking about him yesterday, I messaged him with some of the salacious things pervasive in my thoughts. In the last couple of weeks, though, he's been moodier than normal, and less accepting of the things I have to say. In his defense, I'm perhaps more sensitive because of the level my feelings have reached of late. He doesn't respond to what I'm saying in any way other than to say that he's not interested in that, because it makes him realize his loneliness. There's no telling when we'll be together next (it could be even as late as August), and that thought is sobering for him. Rather than talk about it, as I like to do with problems, he likes to think quietly about them until he solves them. I get that we handle things differently--that's fine. Where the problem lies for me is that him withdrawing makes me feel unloved and unwanted. I know this is silly; we talk all day every day. He calls first thing every morning, and last thing every night, he emails me when at work, because waiting until we can text again is "just too long to wait." 

Most days, most things are wonderful, but I'm looking for when we can have more. When  he can admit freely (and often, as  he's done it before, but infrequently, and usually with liquid courage) that he loves me, when we can come home to each other at night, and when we get to experiences the daily joys and frustrations together. His moodiness makes me fear that it's never coming, but his devotion makes me believe its there.