anniversary.

With less than a month away from my year mark of leaving home, I'm left contemplating how much and how little has changed within these 365 days. I can confidently say that I am not the same heart broken girl that packed up her life one snowy February morning and drove across the country. I've matured in every way possible and honestly cannot recall ever feeling happier or more content as I have in these past few months. But, what hasn't changed I realized when I went home, was the fact that my heart still has not fully put itself back together. Of course, I knew this while I was still in LA, but it was definitely more evident when I returned to DC and I was forced to face the person responsible for the heart breaking.

I will give myself credit for not being the pathetic mess that I was rendered into before I moved, but I must admit, I am probably still deserving of the pathetic label. I really wanted to see him again and show him that I was done with him, that I've moved on. It felt like every fiber of my being had changed for the better, except the persistent little corner of my heart that fluttered in response to his presence. The same way it fluttered when we first started exchanging post-work text messages which quickly escalated into high school makeout sessions and the like.

It's been said that it takes half of the length of a relationship to get over someone. Well, the psuedo relationship that I am currently referring to barely lasted 4 months, and 12 months later, he's still the person that I secretly hope is responsible for the anticipatory blinking red light on my blackberry.

Of course, I subjected myself to my own misery in search of fleeting happiness, by choosing to interact with him several times during my stay at home. Of course, there was something that was still there, which only gave me fragile hope that I desperately scrambled to cling onto. Of course, there were more than enough mixed messages that caused me to over-analyze his every spoken word, unprompted text message, and lingering touch.

At this point, I'm wondering if it's just a pride thing. I'm addicted to the feeling of having the "upper hand", but at the same time, I seem to also enjoy sitting like a desperate puppy wagging its tail furiously while waiting for more attention from its owner. Sometimes it really just feels like a power tug of war. If that were the case, the rope would be tied around my heart and every time I've turned around and walked away, I can only get so far before he gently tugs me back towards him and I have no choice but to follow my lassoed heart. However, I know it's more than just a game. I've invested too much of myself into this relationship, for it to be just a game. I care about him beyond comprehension. I give without limit and without an expectation of much of a return. As twisted and ridiculous our relationship is and has been, it seems we have reached an understanding of each other.

"Your welcome," he said to me, seemingly at random, during our first encounter with each other after 6 months apart.

"For what?" I asked him.

"For being someone you can save," he replied.

Although he is far from just being my current "charity case", he was right. Part of me so desperately wants to be his heroine. All I want to do is take care of him, make him smile, and love him.

On our last shared night together, he spat out drunken confessions of how much he's missed me, how I've always been his 'favorite', of how he could see us as a married couple in the future. All things that I really want to believe, but am trying not to for my own sanity.

When I hugged him goodbye, I told him I'd miss him. And I do. What exactly I miss, I'm not quite sure. How long will I miss him? I don't know.

I really feel as if I will always harbor the same feelings for him, no matter how much my life changes. And in a surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) way, I am totally okay with that tiny (or not so tiny) part of my life remaining constant.