I watched as he scanned over his own notes, flipping through them slowly. The notes that I dared not read, the notes he had scribbled every night as I fell asleep, relying only on a small oil lamp for lighting.

These little 'blips' were happening more often now, about once a week. 

Every time, he looked at me with the same confused eyes.

Every time, he tilted his head as I introduced myself yet again.

Every time, he held the same expression as he read that journal.

It's bothersome.

And yet...

I can't imagine our little cycle ever ending.

~~~

I wrote this in like two minutes '-'

another update coming today (probably, idk)