In every break up, there’s the one who saw it coming (and typically did the deed), and the one left in the fog.

I am the one in the fog.

When the Corporal and I broke up, I was not in the fog. I remember him calling and crying and I remember telling him that I couldn’t be the one to help him through it.

Now, I’m the one who’s struggling to deal with all that has happened in the past 5 months by trying not to lean too much on O.

He’s back, in a way. I mean, we’re in contact on a regular basis again. Texting and emails every other day or so. Which admittedly is dangerous territory, but it seems to be working all right thus far. After an evening of deciding if it would be a smart idea for me to drive back out to Cincinnati tonight or for him to drive here tomorrow to spend the day together, it was decided that seeing each other right now would probably be a bad idea, considering, well, the dirty nature of the late night texts and, really, how good would sex be for my mental health? Answer: Not good at all.

He is going to be in town within the next two weeks and we’re planning to have dinner and coffee. Which may not be a good idea either, but I don’t care.

I finally accepted it. I stopped trying to convince myself it was a phase, that he’ll miss me too much and come back, that he’s my Mr. Big (ok… I haven’t really stopped thinking he’s my Big). And I finally let myself open to the fact that the feelings he had were real.

We just chatted for an hour, and he told me this: I know one day, I’m going to look back at this and think “O - you dick”.

To which I responded: Yes, you will. And please let me know when that happens so I can say “I told you so”.

I don’t know if it’s healthy to want someone to stay in my life once he’s ended what was the best relationship I’ve had in years. But I don’t care. I wish I could sit here and tell you all that he’s an asshole and an awful human being.

But he’s not.

He’s my friend. And I can’t let him go completely.