Okay.  Sometimes I find myself saying and writing mean things just to be hateful, hurtful, and mean.  I don’t mean them.  Maybe on some level I mean them, to a degree but not nearly as vehemently as I convey them, either in my writing or in person to him.

I guess sometimes I just feel like trying to hurt him one fraction of how he hurted me.  It’s not right.  It’s understandable probably and perhaps expected even, but that doesn’t mean it’s a kind way to live and act in this life.  I apologized to him for it last night.  He doesn’t let me apologize but he knows I regret the hurtful untrue things I’ve said.

I broke down (again) last night.  Was a sobbing hot mess.

He came over.  Without being asked.  He was brilliantly wonderfully perfect.

I do love this man.  I love his potential.  I love the future version of him.

Even though I don’t always want to love him, I think I do.

Even though it’s a fuckload of work to love him.

Even though he broke my heart and disrespected me in unbelievable ways.

Even though it’s the riskiest thing in the world for my heart to *still* love him.  I’m not sure if the risk is worth it, or if the risk of it all is going to pay off, but I’m still here, living this life, caring that he exists in my life somehow.

I know I may not always love him.  I know that one day it may all be too much for me, and instead of coming back around after a day or three of being “checked out”, I won’t check back in.  I’ll stay gone.

One day at a time I guess I can love him.  Or not love him.  Or try to love him.  Or try not to love him.

I’m going out of state for the weekend to visit my best friend in the whole world.  Will be a glorious 3 days with her.