Placeholder

“Hey, not to be too sappy, but sex aside (and at some point it may have to be), there’s no way i’d have gotten through the break down of marriage without you.  Thank you.”

I get it.

I’m a placeholder until something better, more tennable, more long term comes along.

Hurts like fuck.

I like him. I enjoy his company, the sex is fun, he makes me laugh and feel better about myself.

But at the same time – not.

Last night, whilst we were fucking he was texting her.  Literally….

and whilst I’m ok being a fuck buddy, I think even that’s a line in the sand that wasn’t there before but is now.  Talk to me about fucking other women / men / whaterver it is that works – but I think messaging someone else – that stings a little bit.

I’m jealous – of this new girl – because he talks about her – he is actively persuing her and I’m a fucking doormat egging him on. I want him to go to her, to be with her, because I think he actually likes her.  I think he feels ready for the “next” thing.  He’s already joked that he will fall in love with her.

I only wish I had the capacity to move on with such efficiency and direction.

I don’t / can’t love him?  Doesn’t mean I can’t grieve him. And I think he’s leaving.  Sooner rather than later by the feel of it – and I’m so used to people leaving that I can feel it in my waters well before they’ve even made the actual movement.

It was fun, my beautiful dancer.

But I have to protect my heart which feels too vulnerable to you – which I swore I wouldn’t let happen.

 

 

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