I love spending time with Cleveland. I love our communication and humor and affection and sex. I love the ridiculously excellent way our chemistry works. It’s honestly rarefied stuff to me.
I love him. I love spending time with him and our little projects and podcasting and all of it.
I am always spitting out my horse’s bit. I rankle at it. I hate my limits. I accept them and rail against them and become resigned. He leaves after a beautiful date, cooking together and snuggling and hot delicious sex and warm conversation and fiery passion. He gets up and he goes home. I long ago got used to him leaving and it honestly isn’t that bad. Sometimes I LIKE that I get to curl up in my bed by myself and watch a little something as I drift off to sleep.
But I hate that it’s pretty much never an option for him to stay in my bed. I hate that on our last date he was so tired and we were so warm and comfortable and comforting and he had to go. It’s just how things are. I hate that he had to leave my arms to go shower all traces of me away and crawl into his bed. Every single night. But it’s not really the overnight lack that rankles. It is, but it isn’t. It’s that no matter what happens.. no matter what we feel or how things are it will always be in this little box.
I’m sad for the limits. I’m sad for everything that could be and won’t. I’m sad for this little box. It is what it is and I accept it for exactly what it is, and I love him. I have a choice and I choose this. In the end, it just makes me a little sad sometimes.