He always knows when he's pushed me too far, when I've objectively bled over the shattered pieces and concluded that he is indeed doing me damage and should be buried all over again. It's at that moment that he contacts me and somehow, despite understanding how dangerous he really is I am still sucked back in.
Am I love-sick-crazy anymore? No, finally the snatch smack has worn off. Plus, almost the whole time while we talked his daughter cried in the background. Even though his having a child didn't wipe away the dark attraction, it does serve to jar me back to ugly reality, which I need. The impossible, far fetched fantasies I wrap around myself are just that: impossible. There is no future for us. No foreseeable happy ending with rainbows and flowers.
Then how does he keep me here in this state of suspended animation? Wherever the connection comes from, it is old and strong. I want to give it up, and I keep praying that something or someone will come into my life that shakes it loose. Something that completely eclipses our dysfunctional dance and it's addictive chemical rush. I have to believe that there is more slated for me in this apocalyptic existence.
