Another throw-back Thursday post.
I feel guilty having a good night. I know I shouldn’t, but I do.
It was good to have people at my house, doing things that have nothing to do with real life… Watching a show that takes me away. Talking to people who care and are understanding.
I almost even stopped missing him for a minute. He wouldn’t have joined us anyway. I didn’t really stop missing him. Not quite. But almost.
Every minute’s a game of ‘what’s behind the next door?’ Open one, discover one emotion, only to move on to the next… Maybe it’s the same emotion behind that next door… Maybe not.
I have so far to go, but all I can see is that next door. I don’t know how long this will continue…. Maybe forever. I really hope not. I doubt it. But who knows?
Every time I talk to his family, it’s like going back to a safe space.. A place where we can all feel whatever it is that we feel without worrying that someone won’t understand. Because from what I’ve seen, even if we’re not in the same emotional room, we’ve all seen them all so far, so we can recognize it.
I dreamt of him last night. I dreamt we were together, doing nothing in particular, and being with him felt like home. Like it always did. I know I’ll never feel the same way with anyone else. Maybe similar, maybe safe again… But never the same. And that makes me so sad.
I wish he’d trusted enough to let me in. He did for a while, but then got scared. Closed up again. We danced that dance. Close in, push away, close in, push away. I tried to let him go. Many times. Every time I couldn’t, because he made my life better for being in it… Even if he hurt me every time he pushed away. It was better with him. I was home.
I miss that.
But tonight was a good night.
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