HE: Drove past Stamford House and thought of you.
Wish I had the resolve to reply, "Don't drive past my place anymore."
What's the point of thinking about me, when he does nothing besides that? Either stop it or do something about it. Or just think about me without telling me.
But I guess I'm guilty of the same.
ME: Had a dream in which we got hot and sweaty. We were having Korean BBQ.
It was a perfect dream, totally innocent, easy conversation, endless laughter, unlimited yummy beef. I could have kept it to myself, but when I woke up, I just had to tell him.
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