Two phonecalls in a week

The Kiwi has called me twice this week. He's funny and warm on the phone, and I am always happy to talk to him. He says, "I can only talk for 20 minutes, this is going to cost me a fortune" and 45 minutes later, we are still engrossed.

This is the second conversation we have had since he said the "L" word, and neither of us was mentioning it. About 50 minutes in he ventured, "So, this is the second time we've talked since I sent that text last week, which was a bit..."
"Controversial?" I said.
"Yes."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Do you?"

I know this makes me sound very passive in the whole affair. It is simply a self-preservation device. After the (dramatic) break-up of our relationship, my heart was broken and hardened. I can't allow myself to jump in with my emotions again, after what seemed so right at first went so horribly wrong. And because it did go horribly wrong, with him, I am proceeding carefully. I'm allowing him to lead, to see if I want to follow.

Almost three years later, it is becoming obvious that there is something irresistible between us. It is going well. And yet my heart is in shut-down mode, until I see him again. This is the test, and he knows it. If there IS something worth pursuing, it is up to him to jump on a plane and come to me. Whether he will or not is exactly what this blog is about. But what I do know for sure is that he doesn't get any of me until he does. That is the first step, if there is a step to be made.

All roads lead to Hobart, my Kiwi. If you want me, you know where I am.