a race to be won...

so, it seems, there was a race after all. he and i, to see who ceased to care soonest. and, it appears, i passed the post first... it seems to me that the entire dynamic of our relationship depends on this - who cares less about the other; who finds someone to entertain themselves with soonest. yet it seems to me that it seems to bother him more that i move on. he brings them home, when i'm not here, never letting me know, but i know anyway... he disappears, and comes home, refusing a hug, and i know. it would, i think, anger me more if he did not. yet this was the first time i've done anything of my own. and it seems that everything has changed.

why are standards so different for he and i? is it an idicator of how little i care, that he goes and sleeps with other women, as is his right, and i let it pass me by? or a show of how much that he cares, that he now denies me affection of any kind, merely because i show interest in another man? i do not understand him, at least, i can see a sense in how unhealthy - no, perhaps atypical is a better and less harsh word - our relationship has become.

attached and unattached - the threads that bind but are noncommittal and easily broken, yet woven into our memories; that remain even a year on... this is what the race is made from. the dynamic dance that holds my little household in its sway. every change brings with it new aspirations and new regrets. at times i wish i could stop the clock, or i did before these new developments. i liked what our relationship had become - attached and unattached. and now i'm not so sure. do i need the connection so rawly that when it is taken from me i keen for it? for i do - i miss the affectations, the subtle indications. they all seem to have ceased. and yet, perhaps this is his version of giving me space to pursue my own relationships.

or perhaps he accedes. i have run the race.