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The Opposite of Me


He sat down and I looked at his long blonde hair, blue eyes, tattooed skinny frame and I wanted him.  I wanted him because deep down inside, I knew that he would never pick me…that we would never get far and that we would never be…anything more than that moment.

One thing lead to another…another text, another dinner, another kiss, another move that would make me more confused.

I left his place without a kiss, there were no further talks about a future date and I had that feeling that I would never see him again. I had already heard that silent, unspoken farewell before the door to his house had fully closed. That we ended before we really started…this was no surprise. What is surprising is that I actually cared. At the cusp of hello and goodbye, I started to “like” this most unlikely companion. He was “jagged”…the rough edge to my conservative, straight laced figure that I put out to the public. I started to imagine nights filled with mixed drinks, lazy cable watching and whether I could handle this mixture of a man that could leave me at a loss for words. I started to wonder whether his beautiful smile would be enough for me to want to pursue a life of unfamiliarity and whether I would let him lead me to the cliff that I needed to jump off of, to learn more about myself.

He was a man that could make me question where I stood. A man that could make me picture bike riding till the sun went down. A man who knew the exact spot to kiss on my neck until I moaned for more.  A man who knew how to hold me without causing the fear of suffocation. A man who knew how to cook me breakfast without pleading for more of my time. A man who was carefree and content and who I wished would teach me how to be the same way.

Unfortunately, he let me go too easily. Unfortunately, I let him.

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