I have a full life and this is not a symptom of anything

Twice in the past year a woman has replied to me kindly, at length, explaining that what I probably need is friendship, or possibly a therapist, and that I should be careful about looking for something like this while I am lonely. I am not lonely. I have a brother I see weekly, four friends I have had since school, a choir on Tuesdays and more invitations than I accept.

Forty two, the south east, eight years in, two arrangements that each ran about three years and ended because people's lives moved. I mention the endings because both were good and neither involved anybody behaving badly, which I gather is unusual enough to be worth stating.

What I want is a particular thing, wanted by a person who is otherwise perfectly content. Structure that runs through a week. Somebody whose expectations I organise myself around. A standing arrangement rather than occasional evenings. It is not filling a hole. It is a thing I like, the way somebody else likes sailing.

I have thought about why I keep getting the therapist letter and I think it is because men often arrive here at their lowest and it is a fair pattern to notice. I would just rather be assessed as I am.

Not looking for anybody who wants to fix me, because there is nothing to fix. Not looking for anything urgent. And not looking for a woman who would be uncomfortable that I would still be fine if this did not happen. I would be. I would just prefer it did.