My Shameful, Wicked Self

I have a date with Sexy tonight. This doesn't mean we're back together. Actually, I'm not sure what it means. Confusion is par for the course with us and this time is no different. I'm not even sure why we're getting together.

There's so much going on right now, I don't know where to start to explain this. It's been a month since our split. We've talked by text message on occasion, but it's been about things like the weather and such. It's like we're both doing this dance around the elephant in the room. Neither one of us wants to say it's over, but neither one of us want to go out on a limb.

Last night changed that though. Perhaps it was the snow. I don't know why, but snow always makes me sad if I don't share it with someone. And here I was in my empty house, and all I could think of was Sexy and how much I wanted him here. So, despite my intentions to remain strong, I reached out to him for comfort.

I know how it got started, but I'm not sure how I ended up going down the path I did. Before long, I was opening a very raw wound for his inspection. And don't get me wrong, I'm not worried about appearing weak. I am human, and humans need other humans. It's a fact of life. I wasn't even that worried about my pride. Pride is a poor companion if that is all you have. No, my shame was in using my sorrow to draw him to me.

Don't get me wrong, my melancholy wasn't faked. There are just some days when the weight of my responsibilities becomes a very heavy burden, when I become weary of carrying it alone. But it's not like I don't have anyone to turn to. I have a very supportive family and some very good friends, if few and far between. However, the one person I wanted was Sexy, and I know that despite the trouble we've had, he can't resist coming to the aid of a friend. So, I shared my sorrow, and a few truths that I promised myself I wouldn't. Funny how I can lie to myself and then turn around and tell him the whole truth. Or maybe not so funny.

Anyway, he wanted to cheer me up. He invited me to his place, but between the snow covered streets, my red, blotchy face, and my shame in pushing his buttons to get that invitation, I couldn't accept it. Guilt is a bitch. And yet, somehow, I ended up issuing an invitation of my own to come to my place the next night so we could "comfort" each other. He accepted, though I'll have to wait and see if he was serious.

So, now I'm wondering. Did he accept out of pity, out of love, or out of need for some physical comfort? Pity, love, or lust? I'm not sure I want to know the answer. All I know is that I have a very long day ahead of me to debate it.

I'm such a hazard to myself.