Patterns are funny things. They sort of trick you into thinking that you are where you want to be because you are comfortable. Not because you really WANT to be there. I almost thought that spending the weekend with him would be sort of…regular. But I realized two hours in that yes, I was comfortable, and yes, holding his hand felt good. And normal. And so much better than NOT holding his hand. But that is as far as I could let myself venture into this pattern.
Years and years have gone by since we met. He comes around for just long enough to make me forget that he was ever gone. And then he leaves again. And I don’t miss him when he is gone, but I am glad when he is here. Comfort. I spent hours trying to figure out what my problem was with our situation. I came up with nothing. Well, nothing, really. The only thing wrong is that I can fall back into it any time. He does it too. He is easier than trying to find someone I actually love. And I assume he feels the same way. I have always been able to rest my head on his shoulder and feel at home. And I have enjoyed being the one that he comes to when he wants to escape.
But the question, I guess, is why do we do it? So, we didn’t. I left early and I came home alone and pretended he wasn’t here. In the end, I know what I want. I always have. And it isn’t him.