Hibernating

I know this problem is present, but it's no gift. It's like a nuisance, an allergy, clinging to my insides. 
            Hibernating, hiding. I wish it wasn't this way, but it's like friendship is winter, and I'm a grizzly who needs a long break, yearns for the bare comfort and nothingness of its cave.
            Or maybe I'm a magnet, where positive and positive can never meet. When things get too good with another being, and the positives draw near - so close to closure - I retreat.
            I thought I'd come home from the retreat, and things could be mended, I could be happy, build new bridges. The bridge; it is almost finished, with a bow wrapped around it, prepared for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Instead, the bridge sits idle, already decaying, until one day when I have the courage to take a big pair of scissors and break the bond of the restrictive lazy ribbon and let the cars be free to roam, going wherever they may please. And I'll reign in the coming and going, the rise and decline, the ups and the downs - and stop shying away from the possibilities, expecting the bad parts, but savoring the good. One day.