I had a game I would play with myself to test whether I was truthfully over myex.
Would I say yes, would I be with him again?
Would I instantly swallow my pride which had been so eviscerated during our time together?
For months the answer kept on being Yes, and then the months turned into years.
E and I met on Halloween night when I was 24.
Was it who he was, or who I was?
Was it just a particular time and place?
E is an artist and bristled with energy and ambition, which was incredibly attractive and invigorating.
This is what I had accepted for myself before I fell in love with him.
He forced me to question why.
He told me I was a writer and to identify that way.
When I met E, I very much did not have such a sense.
He, on the other hand, appeared to me fully formed.
He made me laugh like nobody else.
I got my heart broken, of course.
I pretended to be able to deal with such things.
I hosted a dinner party he brought another woman to.
Now I know that despite the particulars, I was angry with him only for not loving me back.
This is often the way, isnt it?
as though there could be any location which would not have made him angry.
This is one of the hardest and strangest parts of romance.
I feel no animosity towards him.
I feel some embarrassment for the extremity of my responsesbut not too much.
Who could regret a love like that, even when it drives you mad?
Mostly what I feel now is tremendous gratitude toward E, because he changed the direction of my life.
When I published myfirst book, I thanked him for this.
Yes, yes, yes.
