It’s a love/hate relationship.
It needs to love me, it aches to love me, but I revel in hating it. (Secretly? I lean toward loving it, but my pride gets the best of me and I push it away.)
We break up and get back together time and time again. Very toxic. Very Fleetwood Mac, circa the 70s.
It patiently waits for me, calling out to me, until I make the decision to return. I get an open-armed, lovely welcome. Things are good. Springtime flourishes. My eyes shine. My skin shines. My heart is happy.
Then I change my mind. Then the hate returns.
It’s a vicious cycle. What can I say? I was born fickle.
Today, as we speak, we’re back in love. Back in the saddle again.
Because if I eat one more cheeseburger? I will officially join the Macy’s Day Parade as one of the blimps.
*Welcome back, Salad, my love.
(*Don’t get too comfortable, my “love.” You know the routine. See above.)