More than usual, and probably more than is healthy.

We hadn’t spent much time together this year. In fact, after a nearly two decade long relationship, one could argue that she wasn’t even a part of my life anymore.

After being together so long, we started to go different ways. I had developed many other interests and I didn’t have the time to dedicate to her. Not like she was accustomed to, and not like she needed.

I found out the hard way that she wasn’t one of the ones that you could call on every once in a while and have things be like they used to be. Sometimes our time together would be great, other times it seemed like she was just out to hurt me. I felt like I didn’t know her at all.

It’s funny, after living and breathing for her, we were like strangers.

I often rationalized that it was time to move on. I wanted to look back at our time together and have fond memories—I didn’t want bitter recent encounters to spoil that.

But I just can’t let go.

I still think of us as being together. In my mind, we should still be together.

Life has a way of making the things that you want harder to achieve, but how do you know when you should give up and move on or when you should fight for what you want.

We got together at lunch time last week. It was great. Just like the old times and even hints of progress for the future.

Bolstered by that, I got together with her again the next day. It was a little different this time. I thought things were back but they weren’t. There were fights. There was even blood. But, in the midst of it all, there were happy moments.

Maybe we’re not together just for good times. Maybe there’s more to our relationship. Maybe the struggle is what brings us back together. Maybe it’s just an unhealthy relationship that I am trying to rationalize. Maybe.

No matter what, I’ve tried to get away. I’ve got almost no contact with our old friends. No calls to go out together, no ties. I’ve even tried replacing her with others that I know are better for me.

I’ve tried, but I can’t stop. Every day, at least once, I think about rolling, gliding, spinning, flowing. My mind sees transitions and lines everywhere and I evaluate the rideability of EVERY parking lot I’m in.

I’m addicted. Nearly 35 years old, driving around looking for the perfect parking lot to spend an hour or so fighting gravity. Dressed like a teenager, in baggy cargo pants, skate shoes and a hoodie, I don’t feel like any of my peers. They seem older, heavier, balder, they seem more adult. Somehow, the spark still lives inside me.

That’s the reason I keep going back.

I’ll hit 35 in a few months… Let’s see how we’re doing at 40.

Hopefully, still spinning, still rolling, still struggling, and more importantly, still young.