A little more than a year ago, I had a boyfriend. For a very long time.
We'd been together since school and had spent more than ten years together.
He didn't always treat me with all the respect and affection I needed.
I'd cheated on him more than once.
We weren't in love anymore.
We were trying to keep it together.
We went for counselling.
I was needy and sad and sorry and he was cold and sad and untrusting. We lived very separate lives.
In my separate life I was happy and successful and had plenty of fabulous, interesting friends to do all kinds of fabulous, fun things with. One day at the end of summer, I met a Fashionista friend for sunset drinks at a beautiful hotel bar on the oceanfront. Fashionista brought another friend. An intelligent, optimistic, generous, charming, laughing, tall, beautiful boy.
I really liked this boy. But he lived far away and was only visiting on holidays. I was relieved to hear this. I wouldn't have to think about this beautiful boy or get to know him better or wonder what it would be like to have a boyfriend who is such a beautiful boy...
A month later, the naughty Beautiful Boy was in my hometown again. At Fashionista's birthday party, which I was attending with my boyfriend. Beautiful Boy was still laughing, still beautiful. I giggled with a single Careergirl friend about how cute he was and told her to pursue him. Then I spent the next couple of hours thinking about him and getting to know him a bit and almost wondering what it would be like...
Later in the evening he played a DVD of him skydiving. I stood in a small crowd, watching the visuals while the party music kept playing out loud. There he was on the screen: smiling nervously, looking vulnerable, acting brave, jumping, screaming, falling, laughing, laughing, laughing all the way.
By the end of it, I was in love.