All The Small Things

No pomp, no ceremony. No acrimony. No blame. No surprise. A few tears, hot and slow, not bitter, not petulant, just seeping. On both sides. No desire to harm, nor ability to comfort. On either side. No relief, no release. It is as it is.

BB has been having a much much tougher time of it within himself lately, and we've been doing lots and lots of talking. Rather, he's been doing lots of talking, and I've been listening. Listening and wrestling with a feeling that this is bigger than we are able to handle alone. That listening isn't enough, its a start, and its important, but it isn't enough.

He's starting to realise that sometimes, no matter how much we want to, we can't do things alone. He's starting a journey back to wellness, which is a good thing, but a private thing, and so I won't be writing about his journey here.

However, I am going to be with him along his way - but only in the capacity of friend and confidant.

BB doesn't have friends like I do.

I am reminded in these moments of how incredibly lucky I am to have the people in my life that I do - people who love me and whom I love. People who know me. People that I could call up in the middle of the day, or night for that matter, and spill my heart to with complete honesty, and know that they would be there for me. That they would come and support me if I needed them to. That I can trust to honour my feelings, to respect my thoughts, and to listen to me without judgement. To give me a hug, when I am at my lowest. To help me through the tough times.

He doesn't have that. He has me, and I am only one. His family would be there, but he doesn't know how to let them be - and one cannot practice the drill when the building is alight.

I've made the decision that I am going to be his friend through this time, and that I will be there for him while he walks this road. He's accepted that offer, and we are building on our friendship. It isn't easy. I want to reach out and touch him. I want to comfort him. But I will sit and listen and be his friend, because I care for him, and thats what he needs right now.

It would be silly and untrue of me to say that I don't hope that there is some kind of future for BB and I.

I enjoy his company so much, and his humour, and his conversation, and everything about him really, that I don't want to give that up.

But in my heart of hearts, I don't know that anyone would want to have a romantic relationship with a person with whom they had shared the experiences that BB and I are sharing.

I don't know that I'll be interested in re-kindling that sort of relationship with BB once this is over. Or perhaps this will cement our friendship into the solid foundations of something bigger than either of us had thought we were capable of. Who knows.

What I do know is that I care enough about BB as a person to be there for him through this time, and that I'm OK with this as it is, as it was, and that however this turns out, it too will be OK.

I'm not crying myself to sleep over this breakup. I'm not fretting over it.

I'm not really even terribly upset about the whole thing - no angsty poetry, no weepiness, no drunken rages, no conversations in my head about how silly he was to break up with me.

He did exactly the right thing - for both me and him - and if he hadn't done it, I would have. But if I had had to, it would have caused more damage. In an odd kind of way, it was perfect.

I feel calm and at peace, and like this is the way that it needs to be, and aught to be, and that everything is right with the world.

Clearly, BB isn't alright at the moment, but he will be.

And whether our relationship remains as a friendship, or blossoms again into something more, or withers away to fond memories and lessons learnt, then it will still be a relationship that I've been pleased to have had, and that I do not regret a second of.

BB has taught me what it feels like to be in a truly honest, truly caring, truly mature relationship.

I feel grateful for that, and blessed to have known it.