When Ben and I met I was coming off a lost love and a death in the family and Ben was coming off the equivalent. We were both about six months post trauma when we found each other, person who made sense to us and better yet a person we could make sense too. We ran like this for about 6 or 8 months, slowly healing each other in the process. He’s fixed; I’m not so I left first, quitting the job we had in common.

We continued to see each other and we were on the phone constantly until eventually I got involved with a man and at that point our lives began to separate out. We went from seeing each other five or six times a week, sometimes twice a day to a once-a-week soup date and quick (for us) phone call every few days.

I almost never went to his house and sat on his floor bed. He never met my boyfriend. There was a division along the lines of our sexualities because as always our people just did not mix. We voluntarily relaxed our hold on each other to where pretty soon it was every 10 days or 2 weeks I would swing by and pick him up (he liked to ride and I liked to drive) so he could get out of the house.

We’d just talk and drive and drive and talk and drive before I’d swing back by his house, drop him and head over to see my boyfriend. Where the conversation had once been intense and very intimate we were both feeling lighter and our conversation was centered around catching up with who was doing what at his current (and my ex) job and discussing our plans for the future.

This was a lot different then all those months spent holed up in his bedroom. We were getting free. And we were both aware we were drifting but it seemed inevitable. It was as if we were brilliant accessories that sadly clashed with the rest of the wardrobe so what are you going do?

To be continued.