“It’s like moving to Canada”, my father-in-law explained, “similar enough you neglect to understand how different it is.”
That is how I feel.
Similar to how things used to be that I forget to see how different things are.
I still care.
I still communicate.
I still do all of the things I used to do.
But it is different.
And that difference hurts like hell sometimes.
That difference is something I don’t know what to do with.
Because it separates what I want from what I have.
And I fucking hate hate that sometimes.
That is me.
Not shiny enough to want to visit.
But dependable enough to keep around.