My husband came to visit me this morning. It was a good visit. He and I are good at complicating things. Things are complicated.
I know I can't live with him, today, and I don't think he can live with me, either. I also can't live with the idea of him out of my life forever. Maybe I'm dating my husband.
It was good to visit with him, with all parts of him. I spent a long time with the back of his neck. I'd been thinking a lot about the back of his neck, right where it turns from flesh to hair.
I like the idea of developing a new way of interacting with each other, of living separately and together at the same time. I don't know if it's realistic or achievable, but it's worked today.
I love him. It won't leave me alone. The space I've had from him has been healthy for me, and today, it feels healthy to see him also. If dating my husband will work to allow me to have him in my life without his madness, then it's what I want today.
I left him in my house when I left for work. He hung out with the dogs before going on to his own work, and he left a letter for me by our bed. I won't tell what it said, but it was perfect and imperfect all at once. I pressed my lips to his red writing and left it by the bed. I want it there to remind me of something that I thought I'd lost, something I think I may never be able to lose.
