I got in my car and drove. I had to know. I had to find out if he was all of the words he was saying, or if he was what I thought he was in my heart, what I knew he was in my soul. I bought roses. Yellow ones for friendship. I took coffee, good coffee, steady's coffee. I took wine from China Bend and Steve's Etzelager. I took pepper bacon and farm eggs. All the things I knew he loved. And at four am, I showed up on his doorstep, with my heart in my hands, my emotions on my sleeve, and our dog by my side. He was happy to see me. He had almost asked. Almost. He wanted to talk. To spend time. It was good. We talked. We didn't sleep much. He had a sore back. I rubbed it. He made chili. All of the things that were always there are still there. The love is still there, along with the confusion and mistrust. The history is still there. The good memories that lead in to the bad ones. He would remind me of how good he was at making everything ok, and then he would remind me of what a disappointment, what a laughingstock I was to him and my whole family, and most of our friends. He talked about how we could never go back. I asked if we could go forward. He didn't know. He had options. I had options. We could try. We could just mess around with the same old shit for more years. He was still beautiful in my eyes. He was amazing. He was a mess. He was thin and he was unhealthy. His world was a bachelors world. An intentional bachelor, with no sense of what a good life was. I knew it wasn't real because he knows. He knows what a good life looks like, tastes like, feels like. But choosing an intentional bachelors world helps to foster the self-pity that motivates things. I can't understand which things. He says it's all about getting the good life back. But I don't understand why he resists the good life now. It's all right there. He could make it for himself, or he could have it with us, but either way he rejects it and insists on paddling his way toward something. Paddling and Paddling and paddling. I was hoping he was done. I was praying that he could fall into the rest, into the love that could make the future begin now. I was praying. We fought. We yelled. We manipulated, the way we have before. We rose above it, we overcame it and talked about real things, in real voices, on a real level. But it wasn't enough. Not enough for him. He still wasn't sure. He was willing to try trying. To attempt an attempt. But it wasn't enough for me. I wanted to commit to an attempt. To promise a try. A good try, A hard try. He wasn't there. I am proud of him for not lying and saying he was there. I hope that he wasn't lying by saying he wasn't there, and that is what makes me sad.

Now I am home. I drove home on Valentine's day. I stopped in Bend. I stopped in Redmond. I wanted him to call and say come back. I wanted him to call and say yes. That he could commit to a try. I wanted to not hurt like I was broken in half all of the way home. The radio played valentine's music. Music about loving forever. Touching and holding. Music that made the aching worse. Made the anger more. People everywhere were holding hands and going on dates. Truck was groaning in the back seat. I pulled over in connell to sleep for awhile and I dreamt of chocolates and roses and dressing up for a nice date. Then I woke up and kept driving. I have to start believing that this chapter is over and the next is open now. I have to make myself know that the door is closed. I can't keep going back, changing my mind because my stupid heart won't let go, because it tells me again and again and again that he is the one and only. That the one of a kind Leeroy is all I can ever want. That his smile and dance and voice and eyes can never be replaced. It is time to let go. I am glad I spent all of the money I had on the gas to go to Klamath Falls and know that it is time. I am glad that we talked how we talked. That even though the love is still there, the hope is not. And that it is ok. Even if it doesn't feel like it. It is.