Confessions of a Hopeless Romantic

We had an adorableish meet cute. I’d never noticed him before he walked up to me one day at work and started talking to me. I thought he was a total weirdo. He talked to me for two minutes, not making eye contact for a single second. He told me that he found my blog on my Tinder profile. He said my blog was funny. I said “I know.” I spent a week worried that my blog was going to get me fired. He was a Supervisor. I was so paranoid that our meet cute was going to be the catalyst that would set off a chain of events that would lead to me getting fired at my job. I avoided my blog like a relative I owed money to for a really long time after that.

Our first date is my all-time favorite first date. To be fair, I don’t have a lot of first dates to choose from. To be totally fair, all of my other limited in number first dates were disasters. We went to a haunted house. All of his jokes were silly puns. Puns are my favorite. I always laugh at puns. Fine. Not always. Sometimes nothing is funny at all ever because I hate everything and don’t act like you don’t feel it too sometimes. It’s not all the time. Just sometimes. You can admit to that whole just sometimes shit. 

I fell in love early. I was all in. Every thing he said he hated about himself I fully loved. When we fucked, sweat would drop down off of his forehead and onto my body, which he inexplicably hated. It was intense. It made the sex more intimate. It made my orgasms all-consuming and complete. 

He told me that he loved me on Thanksgiving. He almost couldn’t say it. I’d spent the previous three weeks forcing myself to not say it first. His love was valuable gold that I hoarded and cherished. 

He cooked a turkey for my entire family on Thanksgiving. It was the best turkey I’d ever eaten in my entire life. No shit. That bird was soooo good, I still salivate when I remember it. 

It’s over. I still love him. If being with me isn’t what makes him happy, then I hope he finds whatever will. He deserves to be happy and I don’t want him to stay with me if being with me isn’t good for him. I want to be with someone who wants to be with me and is capable of showing it. I want to be with someone who has an open heart. I want to be with someone who still believes in love and isn’t afraid of getting hurt. 

I refuse to give up. I refuse to settle. If I’m 50 and I’m still single, it will only be a mark against me if I’ve gone bitter and stopped looking for someone to love. There’s just no guarantee in life. I’m not sorry that I love him. I’m not mad that it didn’t work out. I’m happy for the time I spent with him. I’m grateful for the memories. I’m hopeful for a future filled with love because as long as my heart beats, I intend to use and abuse it.


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