Home again, home again…

A lot can change in five years. The truth, being both a fickle bitch and completely reinterpreted by these changing perspectives, is nevertheless what I strive for. With that notion, of honesty and truth being the precarious blade on which my world spins, I find myself somewhat agog at how my weekend away in Sydney transpired and the actual reality of the events.

I met my ‘Waterloo’ in 2007. The embodiment of all the phenotypes I find attractive: tall, thin, white, short, dark, hair, funny, awkward, articulate, intelligent, dumb, polite, rude, attentive, selfish.

Yes. A mass of contradictions. Or I had fallen through the mirror and found the missing piece of my soul made mortal.

It was never a conventional arrangement – dalliances fitted in around heavy workloads, academic pursuits, world travel, interstate and overseas relocation and importantly, significant others.

For us, it was a truth well recognised and acknowledged that we functioned differently to our peers and to those giddy ideals thrust upon us by our society. Neither party can function within the parameters of a ‘healthy and balanced’ relationship, instead we took succour from each other in an honest way and faked it with all others.

Just as the snake – like Ouroboros swallows its tail and returns to the beginning, so too has this most complex of relationships. After our weekend reunion, I find myself questioning if I have evolved in these five years of strange, exciting, excruciating, dramatic, comforting, soul wrenching and possibly unnecessary and unrequited times together. Am I in need of more from our agreement, or am I over-thinking the situation with little else to distract me from my suburban ennui?

What others would categorise as ‘a dirty weekend’ has for me become a quagmire of potential headaches, bellyaches and teeth -grindingly difficult choices for what lies ahead, what will make me some semblance of ‘happy’ and what is right.

A lot can change in five years. A lot can stay the same. The potential of both versions of my reality are a gulf that may very well swallow me whole.





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