You don't know what I look like when I'm not in love with you. You don't know who I was, what I was, I was nothing. You defined me. You still do, and it's not right. I don't know who I am any more past loving you. And that … scares me. You know how much I don't like to admit it, but I'm scared, Blaine. I'm scared of this person I'm becoming who doesn't know his own favourite food but knows exactly how you like your coffee at different points in the day, and what Chinese food you like to order when I don't even have a preference any more. I feel like … I feel like ever since the first time I saw you I've been trying to mould myself into the sort of person you could love and now I don't even know who I am any more and I need- I need to rediscover … that. I think. I mean I know I need to but I just I don't know how to be without you I … But this is just for now I swear it. I am coming back to you. Just … not right now. I- I love you. And I'm sor- Beep
Blaine sighs and thumbs the end call button for the seventh time and wonders what he could have done differently. He turns over, shifting awkwardly in the too-big, too-empty bed, his limbs tangling in the too-big, too-empty duvet, and clutched his cell phone to his chest. He remembers the text that Kurt had sent shortly after the voicemail (Sorry. Please don't call. Remember to pick up your dry cleaning on Tuesday. x), but maybe, just maybe, he might call anyway. Here's to hoping, he thinks, as he buries his face in Kurt's pillow and inhales.
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