When I think of the beginning I smile.
We used to erm and agh about everything us. Did we like each other? Did we want to see each other exclusively? Did we want to spend more than one night together? Could we spend more than one night together?
3 months ago we were a train wreck.
Then a break.
That break included dates to the Southbank, long walks and long talks on the phone. We watched Chris Rock's documentary Good Hair together in the cinema, his friends congratulated him for having moved forward in his life, for having a real girlfriend at last.
I suppose for me the break was an extended relief from the monotony of I don't know how to fix us, a chance for him to prove himself, for him of course it was disruptive and confusing. All I knew was that he didn't seem to know how to find out what made me happy. All I knew was that he didn't seem to care what made me happy or not. All I saw was a future in the doldrums: a fausty, fussy housewife type who had somehow unwittingly signed up for a life of packing travel bags and cooking dinners for a man constantly in transit. The fear of non-recognition and endless unappreciation became a source of some inate female terror....to be confined, to be silenced.
We were at a crossroads. I was withholding the things that showed him I cared or they were loaded with impatience, with dread, with an awaited thank you, and on I waited.
It's funny how two people who are supposed to know each other can end up on two very different pages, trying to attain some semblance of security in an entirely dangerous situation.
Turns out we didn't know each other at all. We didn't know the most important part. We didn't know or want to accept what the other needed to be happy.
It was the best thing that ever happened to us.
I look at the bag he brought back from his travels, travels I couldn't go with him on because I'm not his manager or roadie or a singer in the band. He remembered to bring me something. It's not something I've ever asked for it's just something I use as an excuse to act like an 8 year old who asks 'so...what did u bring me?' He does it anyway. It's sweet. It's not contrived. It's just what I like. Summer is always easier. At our best we feel like summertime. We met in the summer. We just about managed to not let go of it.