In A Way, I Was Almost Happy

It Wasn't Like I Was Some Expert On The Meaning Of Being Supportive. Was It Being Loyal Even Against Your Better Judgement? Or, Like Olivia, Was It Making Your Displeasure Known From The Start, Even When Someone Didn't Want To Hear It?

He Was Not My Boyfriend. On The Other Hand, He Wasn't Just A Friend Either. Instead, Our Relationship Was Elastic, Stretching Between Those Two Extremes Depending On Who Else Was Around, How Much Either Of Us Had To Drink, And Other Varying Factors. This Was Exactly What I Wanted, As Commitments Had Never Really Been My Thing. And It Wasn't Like It Was Hard, Either. The Only Trick Was Never Giving More Than You Were Willing To Lose.

That Was The Thing About Being Alone, In Theory Or In Principle. Whatever Happened - Good, Bad, Or Anywhere In Between - It Was Always, If Nothing Else, All Your Own.

But The Original Was There As Well—more Jaded And Rudimentary, Functional Rather Than Romantic. It Fit Not Just The Yellow House But Another Door, Deep Within My Own Heart. One That Had Been Locked So Tight For So Long That I Was Afraid To Even Try It For Fear Of What Might Be On The Other Side

Looking Back, It Seemed Like It Should Have Been Harder To Lose Someone, Or Have Them Lose You, Especially When They Were In The Same State, Only A Few Towns Over.