Camaraderie of the hedgehog

it can be a sort of dilemma, so i've read. the poking and the stabbing from the rubbing and the getting-too-close. That all makes sense and I'd be lying if i said i wasn't one to swallow mouthfuls of too-bigs and grab hold of a hand as long as it would let me hold it. Its not a wonder anymore that i've gotten myself stabbed before and it is certainly no wonder that I've done my share of stabbing. But lately, I've kept myself locked up in this little room within a room with the colours of my mind (and colours I never knew existed, and colours that show themselves seemingly unannounced) and while i worry i may have used up my lifetime of doing in four short weeks; that i'm just going through the motions, I am still not worried because I know I will always go there. Whether he is with me or he is or he is, i feel a calm and I've said before I'm happiest when i don't notice time passing. This is especially true now. What is it called when i can feel time passing but i don't notice its hands, tick-tocking or the acid rising up in the throat forcing my heart to pound harder when I know its time to go home. I am always the last one up. I have always been the last, but here, right now, in this room within a room I don't mind. Cuddled by its bed-sheet'd wall hung by him and held by all sides with one I can really call a Best. That word! Best. So definite and set in stone. I haven't ever been one to throw that word around (love i use often, and mean it often, but love celebrates a fleeting; a happiness that never stays - as it should). I am not sure. Widened by the permanent yellow-green in her eyes and that jar of paint of the same she asked me to pick up because she knew I'd be stopping by the next day. Asking how it feels because she bled yesterday and knew it'd only be a matter of time before our bodies synced like they did that one time in the summer. That summer so long ago. Talk about Growth. Feeling un-censored and rather finished with living in such; feeling done with being the subject to your censors (and i'm sure you're tired of it too). Soon I'll be splayed on the grass in that tented city and I can't wait to hold hands with those who matter. Except Her, she'll be missed but I know I will continue to see her more than my own given hand-to-hold and that excites me. I've been missing women my whole life and I'm glad then when she says, "i'm going to do THIS!" and i say, "me too!" her only response is a laugh and sometimes chuckled, "I love you."