cocoon friend

"You're my cocoon friend," he said, wrapping his arms around me, radiating warmth the way the sun smiles at the earth. It soaks into your core, that kind of welcome.

I met him a few years ago, kindred sailors on turbulent seas of dissolved marriages. Our boats never aligned long enough to share the journey as partnered captains but a deeply-rooted bond sprouted from various starts and stops and now there is only reverence.

For the next few hours we laughed about cat anal glands and the complexities of love. "I think you should try anyway," I offered, as we updated each other. "Worst-case scenario: it ends. There's hurt. It sucks. But you've BEEN there. It eventually gets better -- you know this. And you'll have had this amazing experience. And maybe it won't end. Maybe it will turn into something really great. The chance to try is worth it."

I reflected about my own experiences, how I jump back in the ring even after the disappointments mount. "The most recent guy? I only dated him a MONTH and we hadn't even been together and yet I was still sensitive. But that's part of dating. I'm not sorry I tried." I told him the best experience I'd had in the past few years was with the Cyclist. He nodded, both of us understanding each other's histories.

"You'll have to update me so I can blog about it," I added, snickering into his shoulder as we hugged one last time. "But I hope it works out. It sounds wonderful."

"I'm on your side...
And I don't want to be your regret.
I'd rather be your cocoon."
--Jack Johnson