Breaking The Girl

I have a really bad habit of contradicting myself in regards to what I’m looking for in love. I’m one of those girls who wants to settle down with someone, but I am also the girl who creates impossible standards to settle down with. I get caught between hoping for the fairy tale and not believing in love at all. I’m not so much picky, as I am difficult. But at my age, mid to late thirties, there are only two types of men available. There are men who want to settle down and men who never will.

The men who want to settle down are usually the men who can’t stand on their own two feet. These are usually the men who want to meet up at your local Applebee’s for a half off appetizer and a couple of beers. You more than likely met him on a dating app and you only gave him a chance because he looked kind of hot, holding up a dead fish in one of his pictures. But now that you’ve met him, he knows nothing about fishing or anything to do with nature. His uncle caught that fish, and he took the opportunity to capture a shirtless photo, looking all manly and rugged. In reality, he is neither. He will talk about his crappy job, his crazy ex, and his undying devotion to the child he only sees every other weekend and occasionally on Wednesday nights. His mom still pays his phone bill, because he won’t talk to her unless she does. And she usually watches his child for him on the weekends because he’s still a child himself. These half-ass soccer dads are great if you’re looking for self degradation and chronic boredom. Or if you really want to raise another man and his child. I did the mini van gig for a while. I left that life behind for a reason. It was suffocating. The sex was lousy. He won’t make you cum. He will only make you fat. He is an overgrown man child. And I am already raising two kids by myself, thank you very much. Besides, I am not a typical PTA mom by any means.

The other guy you will find in my age bracket is the independent man whore. This guy will say all the right things, but pay close attention to his actions, as they will tell a much different story. This guy knows women, and if you’re a basic bitch, he will manipulate the fuck out of you. He just wants to fuck, in spite of what he’s told you. You probably met this one online too. He will put zero effort into anything besides getting into your pants. The sex will be good, but it will lack emotion. This guy is an alpha male, he is not capable of emotional pleasure. He won’t offer to buy you coffee, or drinks. A meal is out of the question. He dates a lot. He could never afford to spend money on every woman that he sees. He will make you feel special with his charm. But his actions will leave you feeling devalued. You will be a good time, a pretty new play thing. And just like the many girls before you, another one will catch his attention as soon as he is bored with you. These alpha males can lay some top shelf dick, but they have no stability to offer. So the dick is often temporary, and is always attached to a man without emotions. These guys have a constant rotation of pussy. One drops out, there are three more waiting, that he’s been bread- crumbing along. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it. Every word spoken with the intention of getting into your pants. And every other pair that comes across his path.

I can smell good sex from a mile away. There is something in the way a man will carry himself, a look in his eye. There’s something primal about this type of man that reels me in every time. I have a thing for alphas. But this type of man is good for two things only. Fucking your brains out, and scaring you back into the arms of a soccer dad with ugly shoes.

Is it possible to find a man who can offer stability and good sex? Perhaps my time would be better spent hunting down unicorns, because they are less rare than a sexy, independent man with stability.

I need to feel desired on a spiritual level. I need to have those butterflies right out of the gate, or they will never come. I need a man to interrupt my life, to penetrate my walls, to wake me up from this nightmare of Monster drinking idiots that keep parading through my bed. But the only men who I could ever really fall for are the men who know how to treat a woman. And the only men who know how to treat a woman are the men who treat a lot of women. And so you can see why I’m single.

This Tinder rampage is driving me insane, but like a wild mustang who submits to the saddle after running and kicking herself into exhaustion… I am hoping to tame myself through this experience of running wild. I want to want stability. I want to break myself into submission. I want to free myself from this rut of indecision. I didn’t want to choose, but I am learning now that choosing is the only way forward. And the only way to make the right choice is to break myself of making the wrong choices. So buckle up heart, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.


Writing Material

“What is normal to the spider is chaos to the fly.” ~Morticia Adams

I went to see that ambiguous man again last night. I had allowed him to read my last post, which was obviously about him. And then I was invited back to gather some more writing material. I was not disappointed.

It’s a little unnerving, how good the sex is, especially considering that he has Mars in Gemini. I’ve intentionally avoided this placement before. I’ve always advised women to avoid this placement of Mars.

What I’m learning now, is that Mars in Gemini is so much more than a need for detachment and variety. This energy is all about logistics. This guy knows how to fuck. He’s got it down to a science, making good use of angles and tension. He has mastered that delicate blend of dominance with respect. He is the only man that I’ve ever been with, who makes condom sex feel amazing. And because he’s careful, I really don’t care about his need for variety and detachment. My philosophy on life is to do what feels good. Right now, that’s him.

He has my mostly undivided attention. I have his slightly more divided attention. He called me today, seemingly concerned about this imbalance in our situation. He is not capable of monogamy, and he has hurt people because of that. There was a sense of fear in his voice, because he knows that he will eventually hurt me. I think he underestimates the level of armor that I have wrapped around my heart.

I don’t worry about the future or dwell in the past. All I know is that right now, his value as a person exceeds his value as a prospect. He does not waste my time. So far, he’s made very good use of it.

Last night, as I was leaving his apartment after an impromptu dick appointment, he pulled me against the wall by my hair. He leaned his naked body up against me, and kissed me like he was going off to war or some shit and my mind fell into a million tiny pieces. Every girl should be getting kissed like that. Knowing him, every girl probably is.

A Beautiful Mess

“What a beautiful mess you’ve made of things,” he said to me as I laid back to catch my breath. I’m not really sure if he was talking about the messed up sheets, or something more abstract, like his life. I didn’t respond. It didn’t matter to me. I just savored the moment of this man’s bewitching and poetic mind.

He is not an easy guy to figure out. His apartment had the essence of minimalism. A couch, a television, a bed. There were no pictures on the wall, no dining room table. Just stacks of books and the necessities. His very unique mind was the sexiest thing about him, though his body was divine perfection. He looked as if DaVinci himself had sculpted his torso. His smile was enchanting. I fell into a trance of intoxicating rhapsody, watching his dark skin all tangled up with mine. We were the same in many ways. We were also very different. To me, there is nothing more beautiful than contrast.

Just as the stars had suggested, he is a walking paradox of push and pull. My head rested on his chest, falling into a deep rest to the sound of his unattainable heartbeat. The rhythm of complexity, one of my favorite songs. I can’t help but to wonder if my own unattainable heart will ever let down her guard.

He was a beautiful mess long before I came along. He’ll stay a beautiful mess long after I am gone.


I’m having an identity crisis. I thought, for a moment, that I was ready to settle down and try my hand in love again. I hadn’t met anyone special, I just thought, for the first time in a long time, that I would like to.

About three days later, I had a very passionate one night stand with a guy who showed me something new. I’m an old dog. I didn’t think there were any more tricks left, that I hadn’t already experienced. Teaching me something new is a really good way to catch my attention.

I’ve been a hoe from the start. My virginity was lost in a one night stand by a guy that left bruises all over my body. By the time I met the second guy, I was clawing blood from his back and choking him. My knees were gouged out from rug burns. This gruesome rodeo took place in front of an entire house full of drunken college students. I actually had someone tell me that story years later, not realizing that I was the main character. I feel no shame. That story is about a beautiful and valuable young woman, claiming her sexual power in a world that is designed to take it from her. I have an entire collection of stories like that. I regret nothing.

I have tried everything. Sex was always really extreme for me. A one night stand is an adventure for me, diving deep into the vulnerability of another person, while letting the wild woman inside of me come out for a night of erotic expression. I like the energy of strange. New bodies excite me. I also spent eight years in a volatile, but extremely loyal marriage. I discovered the deeper, softer, more intimate side of sex. Both polarities of pleasure are worth exploring. I was certain that I had tried everything that I have ever wanted to try, until recently.

A few weeks ago, I tried something that I had never really wanted to try. I was laying naked on the black leather couch in my best friend’s living room. This man that I had just met was leaning over me with his fingers clenching a fist full of my hair. It wasn’t painful. It was the perfect amount of tension. He was kissing me and touching me with his other hand. He leaned towards the side of my face and whispered into my ear, “Do you trust me?” I nodded my head, couldn’t speak with his teeth holding my bottom lip. And without further notice, he reached all the way inside of me. It felt like childbirth. It felt like he was splitting my body in two. He started thrusting, what felt like elbow deep inside of me. My fingers gouged at the side of his rib cage. He leaned over me, thrusting away like he was maneuvering a fucking factory machine. Adrenaline rushed into my veins. I screamed uncontrollably. I wasn’t consciously screaming. Screaming was just happening. I had fallen out of my body for a moment and simply observed the entire spectacle, while bellowing howls fell out of my mouth. I had never experienced such terrifying euphoria in all of my life. It was a sexually spiritual experience, that I never would have experienced, had he been specific in asking me what he wanted to do. I never would have agreed to let that man reach so far into my flesh, had I known ahead of time. But I am also glad that he didn’t ask. Because I did get to experience the mind-numbing penetration of a strange man’s arm. I did enjoy it. My friends couch was soaking wet as my orgasms opened into previously nonexistent layers and I sprayed out around his arm. This man was obviously into witchcraft. It feels weird to me, that I felt so violated and so good at the same time. Pleasure and pain always go so well together. I sat on a bag of frozen peas for almost a week after. And every time I thought about sitting down onto his fist, my entire body would vibrate with cellular memories of absolute bliss. This is how my butterflies awaken.

And now I wonder if a girl like me can ever settle down. Because now that I have experienced this, I have to wonder what else I might have been missing out on. And there it goes again, my fear of commitment, my fear of losing out on the sweet taste of curiosity. I’m always wondering what’s behind the curtain of tomorrow, what’s on the other side of a boundary. I am terrified of monotony. And deep inside of that very same fear, is the very real fear, that I will never know real and lasting love.

Jesus Christ. Who am I?

Lessons from 2017

1. I make a terrible whore. When 2017 came rolling in, I had planned on being single for the rest of my life. I have a promiscuous past, and I thought maybe I could get back to that way of living. I had it all figured out too. I would only sleep with the worst dudes, who could never capture my heart. Turns out, I can fall in love with fucking anyone. I will literally plan a future with the flea-ridden stray that humps my leg on a park bench. I’ve moved on to plan B. I sleep with a guy three times and then I bolt.

2. Childhood trauma can’t be cured with wine or therapy. But it can be cured with weed and energy work. My friend and I have spent the past year, pulling invisible thorns out of each other’s backs. It has been the closest thing to a miracle that I have ever experienced.

3. I’m a lot more powerful than I ever thought I would be. This realization has helped to chip away at the concrete wall of anxiety that I have boxed myself in with. It has also allowed me to create my life rather than be a victim of it. I wrestled vulnerability to the ground and put that bitch in a choke hold. I could fucking fly right now. I’ve always been terrified of flying. I could fall in love right now. I have always been terrified of loving.

4. Love and time have nothing to do with each other. I felt more love with my summer fling than I did with my last serious relationship. It only takes a moment to find love again. In fact, love is never lost. We just choose not to see it sometimes. It’s been there all along.

5. Ambiguity is the secret to my sanity. I’ve always tried to be one thing or another. Now I am both. I am whoever and whatever I say that I am, because the only thing that matters in this life is my perception of it. The right to define myself lies only in my hands.

6. I get lost in darkness sometimes. But even on my darkest night, billions of distant suns still shine upon me and the moon is a promise that tomorrow will come around again. The sky has consistently shown me the direction in which to move. 2018 is the year that I will stop swimming against her current.

Sex in the City

If you have read my other posts, you will realize that I have been stuck in a bit of a dry spell. I’m a single mom who works full time and until recently, I spent my Saturdays in school. Even before my breakup last summer, it was three years of really bad, passionless sex that didn’t happen very often. So my love life has been on the back burner. Somewhere along this journey of finding myself, I lost interest in others. I tried to date, but the couple of guys that I had gone out with just couldn’t catch my attention. I sort of lost my mojo, which is a bit of a tragedy for me. My mars is in Scorpio, so sex has always been a really big part of my life.

This past weekend, I set some time aside to take care of this business. I finally had some time to meet up with a guy that I had met at a concert a couple months ago. He is an adorable biracial man with lots of charm and a big interest in me.  He is ten years older and has the sexiest set of lips that I have ever seen.  His deep raspy voice puts me in a trance when I hear it.

The night that I met him, we chatted quite a bit, and the more I talked with him, the more attracted to him I became. So we made plans.  I drove to his house and he took me around his little neighborhood in the big city. He knew a lot of history about the old buildings we wandered past. He was very sweet, full of compliments, and I kind of got the impression that he is a little bit of a local celebrity because he knew a lot of people at every bar we stopped in.  He introduced me to a very interesting group of characters along the way, and explained that he works in sales with all of these businesses.

He also sat me down to tell me that he liked me a lot and needed to be honest. (This conversation starter always happens to me…the ‘I’m married,’ or ‘I’m a cross dresser’ conversation. Nothing surprises me anymore.) His big secret was that his sales job extended beyond the items that he originally told me about. His side job was moving cocaine and various other controlled substances. Honestly, I know this should have bothered me. I’m a mom, and I have never even done cocaine. But I really didn’t mind. In fact, I thought it was kind of hot. I liked that he has a bit of a dark side. I have one too. I was never nervous or scared around him. We even made a delivery together, along our way. And it was quite pleasant. His customers were very nice and interesting people. One guy even offered me a line, to which I politely declined.  I really enjoyed adventuring around through this guys life, that is so very different from mine.  It was quite the adventure for this boring old mom.

I grew up on fifty acres of wilderness with a dad who I love very much in spite of his right wing political beliefs and extreme racism.  He is stubborn and flawed, but he was a good dad.  I’ve written about him a couple of times.  My dad has always been there for me, when no one else really has. That being said, if my dad knew what happened the other night with my biracial friend, he would never speak to me again. He doesn’t believe that biracial relationships are acceptable. I disagree with him. And I find my new friend to be incredibly attractive.

After a few drinks with his friends, we went to the grocery store, where he stopped to introduce me to a few more friends, and grabbed some items so he could make us dinner. He was very proud of his cooking skills. I always enjoy a man who can cook.

I was sitting at the table, smoking a joint, listening to Marvin Gaye, and watching this sweet and beautiful man cook for me. He walked over to kiss me, in a way that I have not been kissed in a very long time. It was those lips!  What started as a flirty little kiss turned into me just completely ravaging this guy.  Things escalated quite quickly. He turned the stove off, with burgers half cooked and lead me to his bedroom where we stripped each other down and he bent me over the bed. He leaned over my prone body, and whispered in my ear, with his hand on the back of my neck, ‘Do you know how lions fuck?’ I was paralyzed with anticipation. He continued to whisper, “They fuck every fifteen minutes for twenty-four hours straight. And that’s what I’m going to do with you. I’m a Leo, baby.’ He knows about my thing for astrology.

And that’s precisely what happened. We had a full on passion fest all night long and well into the next day. He never stopped touching me. He never stopped talking about how beautiful I was, how good I felt to him, how much he liked me. When the thunder storm rolled in, he opened the window and we had very passionate sex to the soundtrack of lightning strikes and the Hall and Oates radio station on Pandora.  I would have never thought of Hall and Oates for the bedroom, but apparently he and I had a conversation about them the night we met and I thought it was sweet of him to think of me.  Oddly enough, it was a very sexy combination.  I have been listening to Hall and Oates for three damn days now.

I lost count of the orgasms he gave me. He was an absolute pussy whisperer. It was the greatest sexual experience of my life. And that is saying a lot, because I have had a lot of experience in that department. But this guy had a very rare and special blend of dominance and submission. He would smack my ass and then kiss my forehead and tell me he loved my eyes and lips. I don’t even know what he was doing to me at certain points, but whatever it was, it had me drowning in ecstasy.  He turned the lights on and stared at me, just laying naked and vulnerable across his bed.  He told me he wanted to see me.  And then he crawled back inside me again and again.  I had just won the sexual lottery.  When I told him that I had never been with anyone who had a sex drive higher than mine, he laughed and told me that he could fuck me all night and all day, and then masturbate about me after I left.  This guy is a literal manifestation of exactly what I needed.

I woke up the next morning and checked my Facebook while Mr. Wonderful made us breakfast. The first thing I saw on my phone was a tagged photo shoot from my mom. She and my dad were visiting Tennessee for a reunion with a couple of veterans that served with my dad in Vietnam. I was very proud of him for taking the trip. And there he was, dressed in a white confederate officer uniform, draped in a confederate flag, with a sword in his hand and his buddies dressed up like confederate soldiers by his side. It looked like a fucking klan meeting.  This is my life…  I was completely humiliated. Just as I have not told my dad about my new biracial friend…I also left the whole racist dad thing out when sharing my life story to Mr. Wonderful. I untagged myself as quickly as possible and prayed that he didn’t see it. He didn’t mention it if he did. He just cooked me an amazing breakfast, told me that I was beautiful, and then proceeded to give me more orgasms all day long. Even after he complained about his hips hurting from the night before, he still managed to spend all of Sunday afternoon servicing my body in ways I didn’t even know existed. I could not have picked a better guy to jump back into the saddle with.

My whole body is sore and it still hurts when I pee, but that was one of the best weekends I have ever experienced. I know I should worry about what my racist dad would think if he knew I was now completely addicted to the affections a half black cocaine dealer…but I don’t care about any of that. I care that I found someone who excites me and has awakened the beast of desire that had long been sleeping inside me. I care that I spent the weekend with a stranger who made me feel really good about myself. I care that I have finally moved the fuck on with my life.  And nothing else really matters.

The Greatest Love Story I’ve Never Told

The first time I can remember feeling beautiful was the first time I read what it meant to be a Libra. I do believe that moment sparked my lifelong love affair with astrology. There are a million reasons why I grew up feeling like the ugliest girl in the world. But when I saw myself through the eyes of the stars, I was Venus, the Goddess of love.  It was the first time I didn’t feel invisible.  I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself.  Astrology has always been my warm blanket on a cold night. When I can’t rationalize the razor blades of life, when my heart is in pieces, when my foundation is crumbling… I look to the stars.  The night sky pours reason and hope into my empty little life, filling my soul with infinite possibilities.

The fact that Uranus has been in my seventh house of relationships for the past few years is one of those situations. Uranus is the planet of surprises. And every guy I have dated during this transit has been full of fucking surprises.  Knowing that I am supposed to be going through this helps me to learn.  It’s proof that my life is a course in soul evolution.

One guy had a family that I didn’t know about.  Another guy kept up a fake personality for two and a half years, only to reveal his true self after I moved my children into his home.  But there’s one guy who shocked me more than anyone else.  A guy who’s sweet soul still lingers in my bones.  

I met him the day before Christmas Eve. We had been talking online for more than a while and I really couldn’t believe how easily our conversations gushed and poured into each other.  Our correspondence could have been a best selling novel.  He was beautiful inside and out. A red headed, blue eyed beast of a man with a huge gleaming smile. On our first date, he showed up with homemade DVDs of the old Beetlejuice cartoons because I told him my kids loved that movie. He was sweet like that. He talked a lot, but I liked that about him, because I don’t like to talk when I’m nervous. 

Of course I had looked his birthday up before meeting him. I’m an astrologer, that’s what I do.  Of all the things that I had learned about him, his astrology chart had me intrigued like a mad scientist in a morgue. On the day this guy was born, the sun, the moon, Mercury, Venus, and Mars were all in Scorpio. My natal Mercury and Mars are in Scorpio too. Scorpio is one of my favorite signs. The energy is highly intuitive. When two people with heavy Scorpio energy come together, they form a bond that cuts directly through the bullshit and right into the soul. This was exactly how my relationship with this guy unfolded. Scorpio is intense. It’s the strange, the weird, the marvelous!  I knew there was something different about him, as soon as I saw his chart. I was hoping for a ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ situation. That’s not quite how it panned out.  

I have never in my life been treated the way this guy treated me. If he could have afforded red carpet and rose pedals upon my arrival, they would have been there. Every time I went to his house, he would cook an amazing dinner for me, he was an incredible chef.  He had playlists prepared with my favorite music. He had a little silver dish filled with joints rolled up and ready for my lungs.  He made me feel as if his whole life revolved around me.  No one had ever made me feel that way before. It was uncomfortable at first, being treated like a queen. But I’m not going to lie, I got used to it real fast. My time with him was exactly what I needed. He was the first guy I fell for after my divorce. And the only guy whom I have ever confessed my love to first. I didn’t mean to say it. But the first time we made love, it just came out. It’s all I could think about while in the throes of the most amazing sex I’ve ever had.  

The first kiss came the first night we made love, about a month after our first date. I thought it was strange that he didn’t kiss me at first. I couldn’t figure it out. Every other guy I’ve ever gone out with spends all of their time trying to get into my pants. Not this guy. If he hadn’t treated me like such royalty, I would have wondered if he even liked me at all. This mysterious form of seduction had me hypnotized with desire.  His ability to worship me while holding his space was a direct and precise shot into my heart.  I was obsessed with the mystery of him.  It all soon made sense after the night that he slipped a letter into my purse.  

We had spent another long night of getting high, listening to music, and talking. We had finished the last of the series, “The Pacific,” about World War II. I absolutely loved watching that series with him. He had always been fascinated by history and was a living encyclopedia of that war. In a weird way, I felt like he had helped me to better understand my dad’s experience in combat, with his commentary about the show and the backstory behind every character.

When I got in my car that night, I could not wait to open his letter. He had asked me to wait until I got home to read it. I couldn’t.  I pulled into the parking lot of a church down the street and ripped that envelope apart. I began to read his first few words of the hand-written six page letter. My heart was pounding, reading about how he was starting to fall for me. I knew it!  He adored me as much as I adored him. He went into detail about why he liked me. This was his way of proving to me that his words were real. And then he started to write about his childhood. He told me about crying in the corner of his bedroom, wishing his real dad was around to save his mom from the stepfather who had abused his mom.  He told me about the men in his life that he saw as heroes and the men in his life who terrorized his young heart.  And he told me that as a child, he had liked to dress up as a pirate because he liked the way he felt in his mother’s clothes. He told me that he has worn women’s clothes in the privacy of his own home throughout his entire life. He told me that he wanted to look into taking hormones to grow breasts and live as a woman full time. He told me that he wanted to keep his penis. He told me that he had only shared this part of himself with only a few other people.  He told me that he had never been with a man, but had fantasized about it.  And he told me that he would understand if I never wanted to see him again.  That moment was surreal for me. That was Uranus in my seventh house. I was definitely shocked.  Speechless.

He seemed so masculine to me. He wore work boots and a torn up Carhartt jacket. He was obsessed with sports and war and guy stuff. His rough, edgy manliness was what attracted me to him.  

My emotions were on fire. I was heartbroken. I thought I had found the love of my life, only to learn that I knew nothing about him. And yet I was honored that he cared so deeply for me, that he gently tucked his darkest secret into the palm of my hand.  His vulnerability was beautiful and sacred.  
I thought about my family, how they would react to this. I thought about my daughters, how they would feel about it. But what I thought about the most is how much I wanted to hold him. His letter was so full of shame about his secret. I felt an emotional pull to comfort him.  That was all I could feel.  
So I sent him a message…
‘We should definitely talk more about this. But I’m not going anywhere.’

And the next time I saw him, we held each other. We kissed. We made the most beautiful kind of love. I had more orgasms in that one night, than I had throughout my entire eight years of marriage. Scorpio rules sex and connection. And together, we had so much Scorpio going on. It was like we had traveled to another dimension, where we moved through our bodies by sharing them. It was hot. It was steamy. It was raw and real and spiritual. To this day, I have never experienced anything like it. He went down on me so perfectly, I came faster than if I had done it myself. And he slurped it up, swallowing every drip of me he could get to. I now understand why men want to know if you swallow. It’s fucking sexy to have someone ingest the pleasure they just gave you. We went at it all night long, over and over. He cried a little when he told me how much it meant for me to be in his arms. And at 4am, after he thought I had fallen asleep, he got up to scrub his bathtub so that I would have a clean place to shower in the morning. No one has ever taken better care of me.  I have never felt more like a Goddess than I did when I was in his arms.

The next day, I told him that he could wear panties if he wanted. And I offered to let him wear mine. It was a little kinky and kind of hot. He was turned on beyond belief that I would go along with his desires. I was turned on beyond belief that he was so turned on by me.  

I was mystified by this guy. I’m writing this, wondering why the hell I ever walked away from him. There were a few reasons I guess. The first is that old fear of commitment that came creeping back when I had mentioned wanting to buy a house and I could see disappointment in his face because he obviously had thoughts of a life together.  I couldn’t handle that level of commitment at that time in my life. But I think the biggest reason I walked away was that I didn’t want to be the girl who held him back from pursuing his curiosity about being with men. I really did love this guy. And I wanted him to fly. I couldn’t live with myself, had I been the girl to cut his wings.  I wanted him to adventure through this hidden piece of himself, to discover his heart’s desires.  I guess you could say that my love for him was unconditional, because his happiness meant more to me than my possession of him.  I also had some concerns about the effect my family would have on him.  

Though our time together was rather short, his love for me was strong enough to impact my heart to this day.  He set the bar rather high and for that I am forever grateful.  And wherever he’s at on his journey, I often wish him the very best of love and light.  

We were together only a short time after that first night of passion. Life carried me away and he had some adventures to explore for himself. We’re still Facebook friends today. He still likes my pictures.  I still like his.

I saw him for the first time since we split a few months ago. It hurt a little bit to look into his beautiful eyes again.