Redrawing the Lines

There are few people that I know really well. People that I know deeply, either because of time spent or because we have gone through something together. I know every nook and cranny of their personality. I enter into their space, play in their corners, explore their privacy. I do this because I have been invited. Because I feel at home in them. Because I want to know them better.

Then something changes.

I am rushed out gruffly with a judgmental bark, an inaction, or a short-sighted decision.

It's disconcerting. And isolating.

I can't help but wonder what happened. Did I take advantage of their hospitality? Did I assume too much? Did I misunderstand the freedoms I thought I had been given?

Is there something they are scared of that I accidentally tipped over in my attempt to know them better? Something forgotten. Something hidden.

Or are they just having a bad day?

I don't know.

All I know is the boundaries have changed. I reel with the insecurity of the dotted lines that I once thought were solid. If this relationship changes, where am I safe? Who do I really know? And who really knows me?

When time has passed, I will be invited back again. Back into the warmth that is love, acceptance, and trust. The question then becomes, do I accept the invitation? I think most likely I will stand at the door and peek in. But I will never feel free to poke around the way I once did.

Sadly, as I ponder my diminished access, I realize that I do the exact same thing to the people I love. Especially to the people I love. And as I understand this, I understand them. Which is helpful. But no less hurtful.