I can see this pendulum is going to keep swinging, even with all my effort to keep myself under control.
I can't understand why I always end up in this situation. It forces me back into "feelings" I haven't had to endure for so long that I thought I'd conquered them as a theory. Though that pain was exquisite in it's own terrible way, I didn't ask for a reprise. I don't think I can take it.
As we get closer I learn more about how I am not what he desires. My first clue is that he is so comfortable telling me about what he does want, probably because I am no threat and no one to particularly impress. It's safe to tell me these things because I am not an option for sex, so what does it matter if I know? I am that awesome friend with the same penchant for pot, the same taste in movies, the same love of serial killers. I am the person who independently shared all his crazy phases and knows why they were each important. I am the only one who lets him be completely, 100% himself.
And none of that is enough. None of that adds up to legs for miles, or whatever else it is I lack, and it never has. Those that I long for will always long for something I don't have and someone I can't be.
I can't really change this sack I've inhabited all these years. I can do my best to keep it healthy and hope to rearrange it some, but the basics are going to stay the same. My legs will be short and my torso will be long. My head will always be more round than I would like, and there will be more lumps, bumps, and stretch marks than I can ever account for.
I guess I really can't dwell on all this. I have to work with what I've got, and try not to let myself swing too high into hope or too low into despair. It's far too early to call this one yet.
