Babe, I'm all yours.

Florida. Not so sure about that. When I'm not sure what to do I get quiet. That's one thing I learned in Florida, that I have an overwhelmingly unconscious desire to avoid conflict at all costs. It must be lingering childhood post-divorce trauma; yes, memories of a hole my Mother punched in the dining room wall one evening. I believe it was weeks before it was finally patched.

Georgia.

South Carolina. Tell me what you're thinking, it's not time to tell you yet. On the beach again, the cold is setting in.

North Carolina.

Tennessee. The mountains, not quite as brilliant as the West, but the first snow nonetheless. Snow. Not again. Discussing the future, where will I be? Where will you be? Where will we be? (yeah, I used the "we" word.)

Kentucky.

Ohio. I'm tired now. It's cold. Quiet times, good food, good company. Relishing a childhood visited too seldom. Discussions on religion, relationships, the world.

Michigan. Home. My bed, my closet, my clothes (wow, lots of those), my pony. I can finally walk barefoot. I can finally start to organize my life as it's written in ink.

And, like that, it's done. I'm burned out from the barn. I'm getting used to being alone again. I'm over being constantly cold.

"I don't trust you." I meant it when I said that. We discussed this. I have no platform to back this feeling, it's just coming from a wounded heart (as cliché as that sounds). Are you all mine? That's something I don't know. Am I all yours? That's something I'm going to find out.

But for now, it's good to be back.