I awoke this morning from a stressful dream.

The Long Distance Fling, who I am likely days away from seeing in real life, flew to visit me.

I was in my childhood home, but it was my house, and it was a wreck.  There were papers stacked, I hadn’t done dishes.  It was not Hoarders, but it was disappointing and I was embarrassed.

He was charming . . . and handsome.  

I stood in my kitchen thinking, why didn’t I clean this before he arrived and quietly freaking out.

At several points, he wrapped his arms around me or held my hand and a pulse of electricity flowed between us and everything was okay, despite the awkwardness of being together for the first time in forever, in a messy house surrounded by the detritus of my life.

That’s how passion feels . . . that crackling electrical current that connects two people.

I can ignore its absence as I am dating people, but when it happens, when a physical connection makes you feel hardwired into another human being, it’s magic.

When I think back through my most successful relationships, they have lacked that electricity.  The sensation of when A or BFD and I connected, it felt natural, like being securely at home, exactly as you are supposed to be.  BFD was my boyfriend from our first date, despite my failure to grasp it.  I knew I was in love with A within 6 weeks of meeting him.  (It took him longer to be sure.)

LP had a connection to me that took hold on my heart and deeply buried inside my brain.  It’s taken me forever to recover from that relationship because it never really ended, and it also never really started.  Still, he owned parts of me that I willingly gave him, thinking we were forever connected.  I’ve reached out to him 2x in the past 10 days and received no response, which is not unusual in the scope of our entire relationship, but it is unusual for our new more connected relationship. 

When he told me over coffee late on a Tuesday evening that he was going to be splitting time between here and the coast, buying a house there, and keeping his house here, in order to advance his career, I realized that we were done.  

When GT, who I have been seeing for just under a month, touches my hand, I don’t feel every synapse fire.  Instead, I feel as if I am exactly where I should be.  When he first held my hand as we sat on a patio at the Reporter’s birthday, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

In real life, being with the LDF was at first an alcohol-soaked bacchanal, but we knew there was something there.  I recall sitting with him talking to friends on a sofa at the Chic Hotel Bar where he was staying and we were partying.  His arm was around my shoulders and I held his hand.  It was intimate and it was public.

Our chemistry was so intense that every single time he kissed me, we had sex, including when I was already dressed to leave.  I still remember our first kiss in the elevator, some 8 months after it happened, despite the number of men I’ve kissed since then.  

I have no idea what will happen when we see each other again, which is made more complicated by the fact I am dating someone.  My dreams are grounded in my reality, so that passionate connection I felt for him that made everything ok despite bringing him into the literal shambles of my life, is not difficult to interpret.

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