This was easier when I was sure I wanted you. I daydreamed about our future like others would about winning the lottery. And I felt just as lucky as they must — to not have given up too soon, to have somehow earned your affections, to have found in you the complement I had always longed for.

I don't know what I want anymore. I've trained myself not to want things, at least until they're within reach. Maybe I feel you slipping away because I'm pushing you there, but I still doubt that you are still mine to hold. And then I wonder if I want to hold you at all.

I'll move away and pretend I never asked you to come with me. I'll get a kitten, maybe someday another boyfriend. I'll compare him to you.

Maybe I'll feel lucky then too.