I burned every bridge I've ever built

For my wasted heart is a child, that stumbles lonely for the arms of the wicked and heartless.

It was intense, every time we meet in the last 3 years. In the real world just outside my door, we don't make sense. I like him, I have liked him, I really do. I care about him too but at the same time I don't really get him. I also don’t know how this will all end. Unlike my previous relationship, there will be no fights over Whatsapp, there will be no name calling, there will be no blocking of each other on Facebook. I won’t be sobbing the whole way home some night over him, nor will I find myself in bed for days, unable to eat or sleep, unable to breathe or think of anything but him. I won’t be taking the pieces he left behind in my apartment, placing them in a box labeled “yesterday” that I’ll hide under my bed, because he never leaves anything behind; even the imprint of his shoulder blades on my bed are gone before he walks out the door, while F’s remained until I finally threw out my sheets.

It was easy to be complicated with someone. There is no obligation to keep in contact on a daily basis, (whew, no more hefty phone bills for my mom to scream at me) there is no obligation to go on dates to catch tasteless movies and eat at overpriced restaurants, there is no need to publicize or hold hands in public, there is no need to wait for him to call on lonely nights, there are zero expectations. But that is where the hurt comes in as well.

The knowledge that we are tied together only by a thin thread, that sometimes I might not be able to see him for months and months, that I'm just a reminder of someone he used to love, that again I am still second best, that he goes home to an obligation, but it makes me happy. When I needed to wash someone's scent off me, he's always there. Like that was the only purpose he ever served. When I wanted him, I couldn't call him. I wouldn't have the guts to, and I am reluctant to initiate again. But I knew, there's a space for me in the corner of his heart, and I always saved a spot for him in mine too. Something always brings me back to him and it never takes long. I don't understand myself, him, nor us. What are we? Complicated. As hell.

But at least I'm no longer drowning. A new nail sometimes is necessary to drive the old nail out of the wood, someone once wisely told me, and I'm telling you, that is right on. (even though technically he is the old nail --- 3 years! Gee, that's a really long time. Time really flew)

And as expected, after he walked through my doors, after the parting kiss, there was not a word from him. But that's how we worked. Then one day, we will meet again, and there will be fireworks. Then one day, the text messages will start to trickle in. That's how we use each other, shamelessly. Then we'll go back to being acquaintances who pass and smile politely. Till the day I'll run my fingers along his stubbled jawline, till the day his chest becomes my headrest. Till the night where his heartbeat is my only soundtrack to sleep, where his strong arms are curled around my bony shoulders, where I'll run my fingers along the thick ridges of scar tissue along his arm. The one that never really leaves but never really stays.