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The reason it’s so hard for to me to move on is because there were so many good things too. They just got trampled on regularly enough for it to all seem bad. But really, I don’t fall in love with just anybody. There are reasons why he was the only person I’ve ever pictured myself standing at an alter in a white dress with. I’ll write one of them down here and more as I feel the need to.
First time I met him off the train, he came to see me for 4 days. It wasn’t long enough. I went to meet him in my duffel coat, a tiny skirt and my wellies. It was supposed to be the skirt, a halter top and my favourite heels but it was raining so heavily that heels were just impractical. I waited at the station for about 20 minutes feeling surprisingly cold for June. The train pulled in to the station and off came hundreds of people, and there at the end he was walking towards me in a shirt and a jacket. His face dressed with a crooked smile and sparkling eyes. It was the first time I’d seen him in a few years and if my heart could have had it’s way it would have leapt out of my mouth and into his hands for safe keeping. I walked to him, getting faster as I got closer, he laughed at how cute I was in my wellies, and I’d planned on kissing him right away but I couldn’t. I threw my arms around him, buried my face into the collar of his jacket, the way he smelled was like a draw string on my body, pulling on my arms to make them tighter. I couldn’t let go of him. I felt at home with him around me and my heart suddenly seemed a little more at ease with us having connected. I guess that was the moment I was truly in trouble. I felt so at home and that never changed. His arms, his smell, his skin, his hands, his breath…. That is home to me. What a horrible realisation.