I held my breath as we walked inside. Justin, meet Mike and his little boy.

Justin was predictably unimpressed.

More breath-holding as Justin was invited in to play with toys. Invited to see a bedroom. Invited to play with cars.

Relaxing as minutes ticked away, and Justin was pulled into this warm little world. Mike’s little one has such a big heart, and is persistent. Justin couldn’t help but be pulled in.

It’s me with the problem now. It’s too comfortable. A mom, a dad, two little boys who could be brothers playing on the living room floor.

That’s the whole problem. It’s just too comfortable. I don’t trust anything anymore. I got used to life a year ago, too. The warmth of the inside of a Jeep where I felt safe, the newness of watching rehearsals and listening to recording sessions. The “safety” of my surroundings, the comfortablenss of the loft at 3am.

And then, my world turned upside down with hurt and anger and an indifference to my comfortableness. An indifference to me.

A big part of me says, no way. Not again. I don’t care who it is.

And another part of me is weeping in perpetuity, for innocence lost.

We piled into a table at McDonalds, kids on one side, grown-ups on the other. And it was so damned comfortable. The kids talking, the adults laughing.

And I wanted to be sick.

Run, rabbit, run.

But the whisper of good things is too much to ignore.

I am torn.

Unsure,

michelle