And then I was at home. Warm at home surrounded by family after a wonderful Christmas.

The food, the presents, the chocolate, the tree, the hugs, the love.

All seem merely elements only to a feeling I can only describe as “the warmth”. It’s that feeling of pure safety, the feeling you somehow can only get at home when surrounded by family. We may not always get along or agree (on anything) but I know that with them I am safe.

It’s a place where all the pressure and fear of London can fall away. Somehow it all seems a world from the warm room in the middle of the Scottish countryside with a log fire. The life in London can seem to precarious; people lose jobs and partners within the blink of an eye. There is something about home which seems like the Rock of Gibraltar; sturdy and un-movable. The warmth of home is not just a physical sensation: it is a mental and psychological duvet which smothers fear.

Perhaps in relationships, it is that same warmth which we seek. We seek that person who can become a new family for us. A new place of safety. Not in the shallow sense of sex and changing a name in marriage, but in a true, deep sense. Perhaps part of the joy of life is transitioning from the safe walls of our childhood family safety to the pleasure palace of a lasting partnership.

Returning home this Christmas, it’s made me realise what I want in the future. Somehow saying that word ‘future’ makes me think of Chris. What’s our future? Do we have one?

For my gift he gave me a beautiful  Tolkien inspired notebook. Cloth-bound and covered in elvish writing, he said he hoped I’d like it. He makes an effort for me in a way nobody else has, and yet I wish we could move things forward. I wish I could feel something more concrete in his affections, I wish I could somehow know if the warmth I want in my future will come from him.

The thing I dread most is rejection. That and wasting my time. I mean, really, is there anything more frustrating than pouring time, effort and emotion into a project only to have it come to nothing? It’s like painting on a beautiful canvas and then hurling it into a river.

Before I left for home we spent the evening together. No sex, he just held me on his sofa, massaging my head as I purred with pleasure. There is something so comforting about him, but the thought that what we have could still fade into obscurity terrifies me.

I want him. I want him, because as he holds me I feel like I could feel, just for a moment, the kind of warmth which until now I’ve only ever felt at home.


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