Love found

Writing this isn't easy. By all stretch of the imagination one is supposed to purge the memory of the one you lose. "He's not good enough for you" they say "you deserve better" your friends chirp. That's the easy way out. What if all those clichéd sentiments don't ring true? I am currently on day two. Day two of having to say goodbye to my companion, my love and more importantly my friend. Like any good friendship we shared moments that no one outside the relationship could possibly comprehend. Our ridiculous jabs at each other (my wonderful pocket ginger) our fake fights, our real fights. All of those made the relationship real. I cant comprehend that he's not here. I cant understand that i wont wake up to him saying good morning tomorrow. I am writing this so I can try to heal because I'm not good at recovering. I never have been and I don't know if trying to forget him is the solution because I love him with all my heart, with more than I thought I was capable of. I love him because he wanted to help me realize I could be a better version of me.

Love Found

So like all of us in the modern world with our pretend busy lives and our pretend busy schedules, I enlisted in a little technological help in finding a companion, the app we all know and love, tinder. I had used it on and off with varying success since I'd move here in January and in July, I swiped right on who I thought was a cute albeit short BLONDE American.
I didn't know how to take him, his grammar was atrocious, and I quickly found out that my blonde ambitions were shattered by the revelation that he was in actuality a ginger.
Our upbringing was noticeably different he had his life figured out I was very much floating around trying to figure things out but somehow through his off hand sexual innuendos and out right blunt demeanor, I found him charming and we went on our first date. Our first date was interesting to say the least. We actually ran into a guy that I had a crush on and spent the entirety of it with him. Couple of bottles of champagne later (as is my style) we retired to S's where he fed me microwave M and S curry (the likes of which I normally snub my culinary nose to) and all I remember is feeling of complete and utter contentment. This boy that I had just met had kept me smiling through the entirety of the night. Happy like I hadn't felt happy for a long time just being comfortable in the company of someone else, and more importantly myself.

London

When I first moved to London I thought I was in love. It wasn't that all consuming love that you hear about in movies, it was a love based out of mutual attraction and the right time and the right place. Like all loves found and lost I cried when I moved. I was alone and the boy I cared about was a million miles away. The excitement and apprehension of being in a new place without friends without family made me hold onto that love, hold onto dear life because it was convenient. This isn't about that. This is about a love that was at all times inconvenient, forever uneasy, and infinitely all consuming. This is about the love I lost at 30. When by any account of the imagination one should be settled in, working towards that white picket fence dream that I never knew I had. The nuclear family I'd always discounted. The family that I thought I would share with S.