He came round to the new flat on Good Friday. The day I moved in ... he arrived in the evening, just before 8, and the first thing we did was kiss, with a hunger like I've not felt for him in sometime, what with the mess that's been going on in both our lives.
My back pressed against, the wall, his hands gripping my waist, his tongue exploring the inside of my mouth, we kissed like teenagers, illicitly, dangerously, with excitement.
But there was also a normality to my time with him, where we sat on the sofa munching toast and Marmite, me in my PJs, my legs sprawled across his lap.
Or when he looked at my music, dug around the kitchen cupboards and teased me about my recipe folder, clearly marked with my name like a school exercise book.
In between the sex there were conversations neither of us wanted to have... conversations that were an attempt to describe the change in circumstances. Conversations that ended with nervous laughter, neither one of us truly understanding what this 'thing' has become. A lot of 'let's see how it goes' was bandied about. A phrase I really don't understand.
All I know is I'm now single and I'm willing to 'see how it goes' with him... but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop myself from seeing other people if they interest me.
And as long as he doesn't feel the need to tell me, he can do the same.
I think I'm in a better place in my head today than I've been in the last few weeks... right now all I see are possibilities.
I've had a good cry and I think I'm okay
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