Home from the Duff

Micheal aka 'the boyfriend' is home.

Michael, who is one of the most handsome creatures I have ever laid eyes on, has been the man on my arm for almost 2 years. This is rather remarkable since I have a track record of about 10 months before I find a reason to self destruct. I must have changed along the way. Either that or it's because things are so damn easy with Michael.

We have almost never had a fight. He makes me laugh at something nearly everyday. He's charming and witty and clever most of the time. He's a pretty understanding guy. When I went off looking for things I was lacking from him, he understood and let me do it. He's affectionate, generous, smart, and a bunch of other things I shouldn't really tell everyone. He's got lovely eyes and a British accent that's wins me over every time. But..thanks to that British accent, it also means he never tells me anything nice about me. Isn't that the British way, a stiff upper lip. Or is that just a human being thing, or a guy thing? He never reveals his feelings, and the worst bit which has nothing to do with being British is he'll never really commit to an us, as in we'll never move in together and if I have any aspirations of procreation, it's definitly not with him.

So, it's a tough spot. Sometimes those things seem important to me. I'm seriously undecided if I ever want to birth another life, but I actually would like to cocreate a home. Cohabitate. Share the bills, the groceries and the bed. Cook dinner with and for someone. Have a home with someone instead of hanging out. Michael, I know, is not even remotely interested in having that with me. So, whereas, he's so many things, he's also not some things. And sometimes, that makes the whole situation a heartbreaker. Otherwise, I pretty much luv him even if he maybe doesn't quite luv me the same way.