Nutella to my peanut butter

I don’t know if this makes me sadistic, narcissistic, or removed from my own emotional development, but:

I often try to imagine how you will feel when this entanglement begins to unravel – through the passage of time, a unilateral force, circumstances or whatever. More accurately, perhaps, I project how I imagine I would feel onto you, because I don’t know how this indefinite event at some undetermined time in the future will affect you. But when we lie in bed, bodies stacked like human Jenga, the mind wanders to far away places in the future when the space I occupy is a visible void though marked by nothingness and absence.  This feeling of reminiscence I’d have in the future for this very moment overtakes me and that’s when I want to tell you that I miss you, which is absurd, because you’re right there. So instead, I untangle myself and away from you, because I can’t face it.

In other words, how am I supposed to make peanut butter sandwiches when this jar of Nutella runs out?

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