It has been several years now, what feels like decades, since I first encountered the love of my life. I met him quite by accident on a train and he captivated me from the beginning. At first I could not believe that I could fall for such a shambolic, messy, misanthropic miser yet how that changed. Through each encounter the more and more I fell until he was all I could think about.
We met up as often as possible. There was a fair amount of ramping, of course, however it was more than that. The ramping led to so much more, more than can be recounted on a half-baked blogging website such as this.
It ended as most things do, with one of us in tears and the other of stout and firm approach. I just wish he hadn’t wept into my purple tweed suit and blown his nose on my antique blanket. I had to end it because, well, when you’re a well-respected Danish lesbian you cannot be seen frolicking with a member of the opposite sex.
Recently I have been reminiscing about the good times and thoughts of him just keep coming back. Do you have any advice? Any coping mechanisms?