My Secret Obsession is Over

Gone.

I never came to terms with it.  It was cheap, it was easy, it came into my life.  I tried to hide it behind other things, but no matter where I hid it, I knew it was there, waiting to be used.  Nay, demanding; after all, *I* was the one who brought it into my house, *I* was the one who said, "hey, can't hurt to try, right?"

I was ashamed.  I didn't tell anybody I was dallying with it.  There was no pleasure, really; my goal was to just get through it.  Finally, one day I found I was not disliking it.  In fact, I reached out for it, first, without thinking, without debating.  I just...used it.  Just like it wanted me to.

I still didn't talk about it.  But I didn't hide it.  Nor did I really enjoy it.  It had just become part of a routine, enmeshed in life, an unspoken part of my day.

Then came the morning when it all changed.

I still have no words.  As hard as I try, I find none.  The experience was "meh" at best.  Yet, here I am, not mourning as such...but...noting.  But of course...once again, time spent on nothing.

A peculiar thing, this Secret Obsession.  When we were alone, it rarely registered as anything; it was a functional non-presence.  When I pondered it in the context of friends and family and readers, I was ashamed. Granted, there was that time in the middle, when I thought maybe I *did* sense something, when I might come forth and not only confess, but I would announce it was in my life and declare it good.

It was just a moment.  A moment that led to so many more visits, attempts to recreate the magic, attempts that loomed as limitless as the seemingly infinite source.

Now we are done.

surveillance photo:  author's own