I get stuck in patterns, in a habit that I gnaw at like a baby at a soft toy. The purpose that it seems to fulfill is something I can’t grasp quite yet. Just like how one of my friends seem to drift into a neverending chain of comfortable relationships without even trying, I drift into friendships that I treasure and eventually abuse just so I can keep the ones I’ve always had around a comfortable distance. This is crucial because I love them. I think if people know me too well they won’t like me anymore. How’s that for childish. But the element of mystery keeps the jadedness from sinking in, from thinking you have this girl pegged. You will never have me pegged no matter how bad I seem to be at cultivating mystery. What’s crucial in my friendships though is that I must always have an anchor. A platonic anchor, an endearing paperweight who is important because it is on top of all the papers, but also to keep the papers themselves (also important) from flying away. I never seem to be lacking in anchors. Someone who fascinates, who grounds me, and most importantly, someone who does not mind. Usually, the person is someone who I do not want in anyway exceeding the platonic, but they haven’t been able to say the same for me. I’ve made tragedies out of our stories, I’ve done terrible things to my previous anchors without thinking of the consequences. I’ve ripped through them ruthlessly like I don’t care, when actually I do, but not as much as they did for me. It’s easy to hypothesise from what I’ve already written that obviously I don’t love these few people as much as I do my other friends because I let them come scorchingly close instead of establishing that distance. But about the hypothesis, I won’t ever know, because all my friends are still here and these people are the only ones I keep on losing. It’s always great between us, perfect, so much so that the only way to go after is down, since I can’t put in enough for an upgrade. They leave. It hurts for me but probably more for them, and I’m wounded by the fact that in all cases they are much healthier without me. But I move on. Another one will always come (& go). As it is, I have lost a ‘husband’. I think I have a sick sense of friendship & neither the restraint nor desire to fix it.

Like the baby, maybe I keep gnawing because it is a tiny lesson every time.
Babies eventually are capable of love, after wrecking everything in their path.