What If

I keep thinking about it. I keep thinking about all the « what ifs ».

That’s the thing ! We talked last night and everything was better. But now I keep thinking about the « what if » possibility that I fall in love with him and want a kid with him. He’s so nice, and lovable. I feel better when he’s there. I always looked at him like the dad I would have wanted. Now I have to look at him differently and I need time to adjust.

Before he invited me to go on a motorcycle ride, I never thought he was interested. I always viewed him as the guy I work with, a bit macho, likes to kid around. I didn’t think that there could be more. I thought he looked hot sometimes, not all the time, but his arms, shoulders and hands, his height. It all made me want to cuddle. I didn’t think further than that.

I pushed him away for a long time. Now, I do want him there but I’m not sure it’s a good idea (c’était pas une bonne idée), I’m not sure it can work (nope). What if I love him and, as usual, I can’t say it and he goes away  (je ne me suis pas rendue là, je n’ai même pas pensé que je l’aimais) ? What if he dies ? What if he loves me more than I do (C’est ce qui est arrivé) ? What if I can’t love him ? What if he leaves me when I need him ? What if he doesn’t understand that I’m not ready (il n’a effectivement pas compris) ?

What if it works ? What if I do fall in love with him and him with me ? What if…

He’s 55. He’s going to stop working soon and will want to travel. I’m not stopping for at least 30 years. I don’t travel. He doesn’t want to live with his girlfriend. But what if I want to live with my boyfriend ? I would like to eventually.

Plus, the main reason I like having someone in my life, the only reason in fact, is affection. I like being held, cuddled, sleep with someone. I take comfort in the other’s presence. I don’t want pressure to perform or conform.

I know sex is going to happen if I see him. I’m so attracted. Damn. (C’était temporaire, l’attirance a pas mal fait place au dégoût, le gars me rappelait trop mon père et la première fois que je suis allée chez lui, j’ai senti une odeur de grand-père. Brrr. Très dérangeant.)