From Here Out

I frequently dream about my ex. She was a dedicated athlete who was also an intellect and our conversations would range from training to sociology, history or science. But what I miss most is that intense “in love” feeling. It’s like an altered state, like a drug. I might find another connection before life runs down, but with each passing year it becomes less likely. Women in my age bracket are an increasingly homogenous group. Buxom blondes. I’ve never done well with buxom, and while blondes can be stunning, my preference has always been for willowy, athletic brunettes.

This isn’t a judgement, of course, just an observation. Attraction is a personal affair and I don’t even think we have a choice. I believe we are impelled by a deeper, urgent whisper from our genes.

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My ex rests her hand on me. January, 2009

Though I much prefer couplehood to being solo, despite best intentions, I have not been able to pick my lot. I’m more “okay with it” now than I’ve ever been. Which is not to say I’m resigned or complacent. I still seek avidly but am thinking perhaps for the duration all my close live-in companions will be of the four-legged sort. Of course, that’s what I thought too when my ex first contacted me…

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