In the many months of hiding in my room, during this insufferable pandemic, I’d almost forgotten about the messiness of romance that inevitably happens when a bunch of twenty something children and assorted accomplices are thrown together in some of the newest and strangest chapters of their lives.

Christ, I am so tired.

Three years ago, I recognized that trying to be somebody’s partner hurts too much. For me.

Trying to be with somebody I actually like is much, much worse, because I’m too smart to believe that I’m not going to make an enormous mess of things and lose the companionships that matter most to me in this world.

At least, back then, that’s how I was feeling. That feeling has never quite gone away.

It has been well over three years since I promised myself not to try for a partner again until after I’d finished knitting a sweater.

I’d never made a sweater, before I made this promise. I didn’t know how. So before I put myself through another companionship, I needed time to learn.

If I couldn’t teach myself how to make something halfway decent from scratch with my own hands, then I also probably shouldn’t be trying to navigate the tricky strangeness of that sort of promise with an entirely seperate human being.

I haven’t done much knitting, since.

It’s not that I haven’t had time.

I did successfully crochet a sweater, at one point. I wanted to know if I could. It was messy and terrible and far too big for me, but it vaguely resembled an article of clothing. I loved it so much.

But crocheting and knitting, as everyone knows, are two entirely different passtimes, and so I was safe from the obligation of pursuing a partnership.

There have been friends. There have been quiet, ridiculous hopes. There have been butterflies, in unexpected but not at all unhappy moments.

There have been exhausted retreats from the world back to the safety of my attic room with the weighted blanket and the soft comforter and this sweetheart of a cat because closeness sometimes hurts too much.

In all of that time, I am sure there were many hands that would have been lovely to hold.

In all of that time, there were all of two people who made me pause for long enough to think seriously about getting the knitting needles out of the trunk that is tucked against the far wall of the attic. You don’t meet that sort of person every day, I suppose.

Don’t ever settle, a friend told me, once. But that’s not it. That is so far away from being the point.

There are some people who will probably never stop being frustratingly beautiful. Closeness hurts. Feelings are complicated. Navigation is extraordinarily difficult. I have such a hard time talking to anyone about this.

You will go through this life in your own way, and in your own time. And that’s okay.

There’s more than one way to love and be loved.

Ane so, for right now, I’m still not knitting a sweater.

I’m keeping my eye out for some yarn that is soft and acrylic and dark green. I’ve never knitted socks in my whole life and I would be so disappointed with myself if I didn’t learn how in this lifetime. Also, there’s a baby blanket that is long overdue, and a scarf I’ve been meaning to work on.

One day at a time.