the long journey home

Time warps are funny, funny things.

The journeys home, aren't very long at all really.
It's surprisingly short sometimes, in fact.
How very odd.


So,
my weekend's been quite lovely so far. I don't mind it at all.


I got caught up reading some old letters that I never sent.
They made me tear up a wee bit, and what scares me is realizing that not a lot's changed, in some parts of my life.
I still feel the same for this person and this person still evokes the same feelings that he always has, in me. The same sense of familiarity, comfortability, the sense of solid ground. The feeling that he's known me forever, and seen the most disgusting days of me. That he is, very simply, my best friend.
It's a bit of a shame in some sense though, because I look back (at the letters, at what has or has not happened) and ask what I'm doing and why I felt, and still do- to some extent, the way I do.
Truth is, I don't know.
Maybe because I believe, and always have, that he is more than these days that he has.
Maybe because I wanted to believe that I get it, that I understand, that it doesn't make me sad.

And everytime these days come around,
all I seem to find to say is, how sorry I am.
That he feels like this, that I don't know how to be there, that I'm not enough, that I am sad, that I feel sad, that I don't get it, that I don't quite understand because if I did then I wouldn't be sad, and oh, I would know just what to do, and I don't.
Even now, I find myself wishing that I did know just what to do.

Still, I don't.




My Sunday afternoons, they've been nice.
It might be the weather or the dessert (what in the world!) or the company or a combination of all of it. None of it's been the same, but they've all been quite nice.



Lets see how long it takes us to get home this time, shall we?