So when I last left, I was taken over with butterflies. I couldn’t get enough. But maybe he could?
It’s not that we’re on bad terms now. There just are no terms. I don’t know what to expect, and I don’t think he wants me to. Some might look at it as mind games being played, but I know better. I think that’s why I haven’t really done anything to stop what’s happened. I know that he needs to put himself first — this may be the first time he’s ever done that. But it’s what he needs.
He came to visit me. Waiting for the day he arrived built up so much anticipation. I think we both knew that we would enjoy each other’s company, but we both were prepaaring for the worst. We had an amazing time together; couldn’t keep away from each other. When he had to leave, I think he was ready to take a step back. Unbeknownst to me, of course. I was beyond smitten.
I fell, and there wasn’t any denying it. But I think the difference between us is that I was looking for something before we met. He wasn’t. And there it is. I won’t ask if there’s such a thing as “too open” or “too ready.” I was ready, and he wasn’t. It’s just that simple. I can’t blame myself, because it’s taken me years to get here. I can’t blame him, because he didn’t think either of us could have feelings this fast. But I did. Maybe he did too. But he knew enough to stop things, or at least put them on hold (whatever this is) until he could actually do something about whatever it is that he felt. Maybe.
All I know is that I’m getting on a plane in an hour. I don’t know what will happen when I get there, but I do know that I wouldn’t object to having his arms around me one more time. If the season has ended, I look back with no regrets. I was ready, I was open. That’s progress. There are still butterflies to be had.