Some old lovers fit like a long lost set of your favorite pajamas.
When cleaning, you find them at the back of the drawer, tucked under something more fashionable. You think "OMG, these.... i 've missed these," and you climb into them with the joy of rememberance.
They hug around the edges and keep you snuggly soft, and for a moment, you can't help but think "why did i put these away? I love these..."
Then you remember that your ass shows a little, thru the threadbare patch on one cheek. And they scratch, on that one side, where the tag used to be. No matter how great they feel, they are what you wear when you know no one is looking. They are PERFECTION, as long as you weren't planning on looking good, or leaving the house.
In the end, I get off the couch and change into something sexy and dazzling, and hit the local club. I get off the couch, content in the moment I had, and I go back out to the rest of the world.
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He looks great... He sounds great. And it was lovely, just a little over an hour catching up on life. I still adore him. I still love him. I still wish him all the best. I suppose I still have a part of me that wishes it could work out... but we are polar opposites . He's happiest, on his own, alone, and he looks forward to becoming a crotchety old man. I, on the other hand, continue in my social butterfly ways, glad to not have clipped my wings and died from the stillness.
I miss what was, but dont' think I'd give up what is in order to have the old.
