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Valentine's Hangover

Chloë Rain
Ard Bia, Galway Ireland June 2013 Dinner, alone on my trip to Ireland last spring.

Ard Bia, Galway Ireland June 2013 Dinner, alone on my trip to Ireland last spring.

On our first date: 

I said, "I'm intense."

He said, "I'm not afraid."

I said, "I've been going through a lot lately, best we keep it short tonight."

He said, "You don't scare me."

I said, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

And then we didn't leave each other's company for days......

After so many dates we lost count.

He said, "I don't want to be a blog post. I want to be your boyfriend."

I said, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Truth be told, he invited me not to run, and I accepted the invitation.

I feel the urge to run, often.  Interesting to observe from the vantage point high up above my life, what is this urge to run?

I've gotten quite comfortable with my aloneness,  my single-hood, my internal dialogue has become a static reality, and somewhere along the way I have forgotten that I actually intend to be in a relationship with a man, and to experience the growth that happens only in relation to the other.

We had an argument about the tea kettle. Then about the shower curtain.

I hate the bathroom rug, he insists upon it.

One evening he baked squash from the garden, and served it with fresh duck that he'd hunted earlier in the week, with a homemade wild berry marinade, and several bottles of good wine.

He said, "I won't be the the one to claim you."

In the end that was all that I could remember of who won which battle over who had cleaned the bathroom last.

And I had a Valentine's Day hangover.

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