Love

Sweet boy has gone home to Paris, and I am bereft. Of course I know we have no future — for gods sake, he’s 24 — but… but… there is something to this. He touched me in a way I didn’t know I wanted, or had forgotten. He’s made me want love, truly want it, for real. He talked about love — love! — on our first date, and spoke of it often, in a natural way, of common discourse. I’ve never. My relationships have all been at arm’s length compared to this.

So thank you, dear L., for releasing my heart. It may get broken, but at least it won’t be frozen.

Je t’aime.