And there he was again.
My old friend. Best friend. Friends for as long as I can remember. Through school, uni, work…… always there.
We were inseparable. Dancing through the night, adrenaline coursing through me, until I collapsed exhausted, satisfied, feeling like this was what life was about. Kickstarting the day after the night before with caffeine, plastering on the make-up and the smile which hid the exhaustion and the comedown, starting the day as if nothing had happened.
Night after night after night.
I felt safe in his warm embrace.
He was sweet, enticing, persuasive.
Addictive.
I was drawn in like a moth to a flame. I couldn’t help myself.
And then.
I broke.
Exhausted by his constant demands. Tired of it never, ever being enough. Unable to navigate the emotional rollercoaster.
Shallow. Empty. Depleted.
Broken.
And then we broke up. There was no big fall out: we just drifted apart. Now that I no longer wanted to dance til dawn, he lost interest and found new friends to play with.
And so did I.
And bit by bit, I got over him. Piece by piece I put myself back together again.
Stronger. More resilient. Whole.
Yet, here he was again. Appearing out of nowhere. Whispering softly. Enticing me back in.
Oh I’d seen him around. I’d even wondered how he was doing. But I’d not been this close since it happened.
And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, he still had his grip on me. Lighter, but still there.
Oh the familiarity……. I got so close that I could almost taste him.
Tantalisingly close.
He had me on his hook…..
It would be so easy to go back to how we were.
“Come and play.” he said. “Remember when we used to dance til dawn?”
I did.
“Remember how you relied on me?”
I did.
We flirted for a while, I was tempted: seduced by the familiarity of our dance. So in synch. Knowing without thinking what to do next; knowing exactly how to dance to his tune.
Until one night:
“Come.” he insisted.
I hesitated.
“C’mon, let’s play!” he urged.
“No.” I said “I’ve changed.”
“Huh?”
“You hurt me. I broke down. We broke up. I’ve moved on.”
“Moved on?” he teased. “You’ve not moved on! You don’t know how to be without me. You’ll never truly move on,” he said, certain in his assertion of my commitment to his never-ending wants.
“Oh, I have” I said. “I have a new friend now. But you wouldn’t like her, she’s not your type at all.”
“What makes you say that?” he said, his curiosity piqued.
“My dear old friend, Overwhelm,” I said, “Don’t forget how well I know you. She’s definitely not for you. Her name is Simplicity.”