The Stranger in my Apartment

There’s a stranger living in my apartment.

I have him for a roommate.

I can’t specifically recall when I let him move in, but I do remember bits and pieces.

I guess I can say that it started out like any other relationship I have ever had: Slow.

I started seeing him here and there when things got too difficult to handle. It was a comfort to have someone there for me, someone I wouldn’t have to explain ever minute detail of my life. He understood. I mean, how could he not?

He told me everything I wanted to hear, but never anything that I needed to hear. It was just the right amount of affirmation I needed to lay my head upon at night. But it never stopped the dreams. Those would never go away. So, ultimately, when I woke, I was right back where I started.

I’ve tried to evict him, but I can never seem to take hold of him. Because when I finally have him within my grasp, I lose focus. I make excuses for him and I let him go.

I no longer look him in the eye. I just can’t bear it. He’s just too attached, too standoffish, too unrecognizable.

I’m afraid there’s no going back.

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