What do you have?

Can the world execute a well-crafted plan? A series of events. Is there a camera rolling? This isn’t happening. I am not this girl. . . I see the mirrors. I am secure in my self, but my ego is in check and this insanity, is not . . . 

I am already missing U. What do U have? I do not know but I love it. The text reads. From the guy whose table I sat at Wednesday night as they exchanged Secret Valentine names a la Secret Santa. As he gave each of his friends CDs with a quote inscribed on the packages inspired by the recipient. I was in awe at the group. The friendships. The amazing guy, who I thought gay. Perhaps, this is what I need. Perhaps, this group could be mine.

That evening, a lift of my depression. I felt full as I ascended my stairs. Friends. Being social. A sabbatical from which was too long. I laid down, calm. A departure from my usual “read, write, do” or numb with addiction until I pass out.

However, last night was different. That text. The fashion show. Even Rediscoveringme was there. The tug of war. The trying to be gracious, hating the required hover when one buys you a glass of champagne. I was leaving to meet Caballito. And then his phone went unanswered for half an hour. I sat in my apartment as I received that text from the man I thought gay. I am already missing U. What do U have? I do not know but I love it. And I was angry. Why? What do I have?

Caballito called twenty minutes after. I went and met them at Latin Star at 2am. I watched him and Enrique eat. The lie from weeks ago, a faint memory.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Today. Friday. Thank God. I am glowing. I don’t know if it’s the weekend’s nearing, my prospective career, or the fact that I am no longer emotionally attached and vulnerable to Caballito. Last night, I listened to him as he stumbled on words such as “I haven’t been good to you,” and “make love.” You mean fuck, right. I said to myself. Happily.

This morning I must have woken up on the right side of the his bed. I worked out and as I showered and dressed up for work, actually blow drying my hair. I walked around my apartment in black lace shorts, sipping my coffee, dancing and feeling irresistibly like me. I told the parking attendant, “Creo que tienes el pelo mas bonita.” The window washer, barista, bikers and joggers all waved, “Hi, Attainingme.”

I love it here in PR. I really do. I will ride a rodeo horse tomorrow- it will be a first. I will go to the beach. Work out. And happily spend time working and avoiding the Artist, the Man I thought Gay, and a few others– the men who have presented their emotions. Unzipped, raw and tender.
I walk into my office and Jose, attempts to speak English. “Flo- ers.” What? He chuckles. Laughter- his default response to all things said in English. I walk to the back thinking there is something wrong. More guns? No, he points. To my office. I walk. Flowers.

WHAAAAAAAAT? 
I assume they are from MattDamon or my sweet 80 year-old friend Tito or the Artist. . . but, then I read the card:
Ha sido un placer conocerte. Espero que tengas un lindo y bello dia. –The Engineer.

 

Disclaimer: I post this, because these are stories and moments that no friends want to hear, tellings that elicit nothing positive to the listener. But, this is my place. And I write this, because it hurts.

Paltry Subterfuge

I pull closer. I cannot get close enough. My body is yearning for yours. I can feel you inside me. A wave of calm mixed with a resurgence of sexual energy,

My mind and my movements take on a prowess. I feel seductive, sexy and  . . . free. My sensuality had been on an extended sabbatical. Hello again 😉

I drive over the bridge. Unfortunately, my sensuality has only returned in my thoughts. The dance with my lover/my companion has been postponed. The “to be continued,” still pending.

The saboteur. I am. 

Yesterday, I recalled my typed words–my request of myself to not sabotage my reunion with Caballito. I knew he wouldn’t call me until after the gym circa 9pm. However, my vulnerability demanded that I distract myself. Not wait on his call. Avoid wondering why he will not make concrete plans with me, secure seeing me, and the corresponding pain that I am not a priority.

I acknowledge that a woman, a relationship, falls second in his value hierarchy. I acknowledge that this does not reflect his emotions for me and the amount he cares. He simply cares about himself more.

Sigh, the traits of a Mr. Unavailable. I complain, but these traits are also my safety.

I initially hung out with the Artist, escaping the pain of waiting on a ring. I dropped off the artist who has fallen for me, who does cute things. Who shines a light on the failed actions of my Caballito. I left the Artist hoping to see Caballito.  I received a call from my father, family circumstances. I called Caballito, tears building, he didn’t answer. 

The Trainer called me thereafter, as I was driving, looking for a place to cry. And, he said, “Come here.” PS. I barely know him. When Caballito called back, I was already driving to the Trainer, the Stranger. To cry.  

I told Caballito I just needed to drive. I was upset and that we would talk tomorrow– which is today.

SUBTERFUGE. At least, it wasn’t SABOTAGE . . 

xx

The current summary of my peripheral men are the following:

1) The Artist– new man who I have spent time hanging out with. As friends, in my mind. As more, in his. Nothing has happened physically so I assure myself that we are just friends. Yet I can see that look in his eyes. He is on a high. He is a puppet, and I hold the strings.

2) The Lawyer- I attended a Grammy winner’s birthday with him on Tuesday. he has written me these texts since: 

“ATTAININGME- I WANT THAT YOU LIVE WITH ME IN MY HOUSE I LIKE YOU A LOT MY BMW IS WAITING FOR YOU.”  The text before said this “ I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER ALMOST FOREVER GOOD LUCK”

Haha. I met this guy at a business meeting. He is the opposite of what his texts make him out to be. He was so shy when we first met. Couldn’t even look at me. And, when I was friendly, as I normally am, he told me he has never fallen in love at first sight before. He thinks we should get married. What’s really sick is I am pretty sure he is serious. 

This will go nowhere. I include him to illustrate the contrast in courtship.

3) MattDamon- A character in this blog since its inception. A coffeeshop acquaintance in New York who fell for me. I toyed around with giving him a shot. Yet, couldn’t as my feelings weren’t quite there. I wanted them to be. This has been on a hiatus as my days are in PR and he lives in NY. This was Jan 1st’s email:

“What I do know and it was confirmed to me last night is that I miss you despite my repeated attempts to forget you. Even though I was hosting yet another great party with my some of my closest friends – when midnight came and went – I had a moment of sadness instead of joy because you weren’t there to share it with me. Then I even became a little angry because you hadn’t texted, called or replied to my last email . . .

So when I ask you to tell me what you want – I’m really asking you to have the courage to tell me what you already know but haven’t directly said.

If you like me but are afraid of getting close because in your mind that equates to a relationship and I’m not someone you envision as a boyfriend – then say that. 

If you don’t have any greater feelings beyond wanting me to be your friend – then say that.

If you miss me as much I miss you and want to see what comes of it – then say that.

Personally I’d rather have this conversation while sitting on a beach, holding you and watching the sunset but I guess an email will have to do for now.”

4) KidRobot- One of the first men I dated in New York. Now, my oldest friend. He came to Christmas with me. These are his current words:

“Why do I miss you so much? What’d you do to me?”

and then, “I also don’t want to go out. I really miss sleeping next to you and wish I could roll over and wrap myself around you.”

Mind you, the Christmas week we shared a bed, we didn’t even share an embrace. Not even spooning.

5) The Trainer- for now, a new friend. 

6) Rediscoveringme– On a good note, I ended this yesterday. It’s been many months, yet he still texts me, how much he needs my body, how much he misses me. I told him I needed more. Goodbye, my soulmate. 

 

I will stop here. This is too depressing. Blah. I am horrible. A horrible horrible person. Mark was right. “You make people your world. And they become addicted . . . ” 😦 We can all deal with Attainingme’s issues later. People always assume I am afraid of getting hurt. No, I am afraid, of hurting others. Deathly afraid. I stay far, guarding my kisses. Yet, I still hurt.

My kisses however are extended to one, Caballito. The one who cares the least. The one who is safe . . . 

. I miss him. I want him. I am craving his cock. His voice. His laugh. Crystal-light.

 

 

I have a new appendage- it’s called loneliness

I am having an insatiable craving for a companion. I am in New York with many friends to see and much work to do and I am sitting here, heavy, unfocused and longing for a companion. The journalist could be one, but it seems we are so out of sync. I believe we both notice this. Perhaps, we are both craving someone and continuing our communications in hopes that the other is malleable, yet solid enough to fill the companion mold.  

I text Caballito in PR. He always responds. He writes, “I miss you.” Yet, I am angry. I need more. I need him to make me feel as if he is there, some permanence, some security. I need him to be a companion from afar, yet he is failing miserably. He misses me. He craves me. So does Rediscoveringme. Yet, these are physical arrangements donning a mask of emotions.

Reading “Mr. Unavailable” as per T’s recommendation has made me realize that all of these men are not even a fragment of the companions that I wrongly am fooled to believe they are. I am left, hollow.

I know this feeling will pass, but I am in a fog of emptiness. My girlfriends are here vying for my attention. Although, they can’t fulfill what I am desperately seeking. I will see them and kiss kiss goodbye, sink into a cab and feel, perhaps, lonelier. I need to lie in bed and be held. Cuddle. Talk. I miss the exes. I am missing everyone who has given me this.

What the hell do I do? I know that I must fulfill this hole elsewhere. I recognize that I love my independence and that there are pros to having this emptiness. That I choose this. That I am a Ms. Unavailable, but in this moment, I want to sink into nothing. Or even grab the man on the laptop in the corner. And rest my head on his shoulder. Take me home. Let us put socks on and sweats and watch some daytime movies. I can’t work like this.

Help.

And this double life, this double life will perpetuate this hole. Any man who wants a girlfriend, who is emotionally available, does not want me. 

Parte 2. Los hombres latinos de “If you want my body and you think I am sexy” . . . Don’t tell me!

Cont. from Parte 1. Sunday. I return home from El San Juan Hotel at 3am. For some reason, I wake up at 6:45am and decide to seize the day. I am walking my dog, as a car passes me, “heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!” Two men are inside. I thought the driver was the gentlemen from dinner the night before. However, as I walked up to their window, I quickly realized I was wrong.

I assessed that they were not starting their day as I was, but instead, were still out from the night before. I walk away. Feeling silly and too trusting for walking up to a car. Moments later, the car does a u-turn and the driver, is excitedly saying, “I know you!!!” It was Caballito! A well-know Equestrian here. They ask me to join them for beers. Perhaps, coffee? They propose a hotel where we can fulfill all of our wants. Shouldn’t I bring doggie home first? No, it will be fine . . . .

As i closed the car door, I smiled at that spontaneity and the randomness of this Sunday morning. Caballito, his Amigo, I and doggie sit at the bar. We all drink from plastic cups. Afterwards, I lead them to the beach desiring some sun time. I take off my dress and leave doggie with the guys as I run into the ocean. I look to the shore and His Amigo has every intent to come in. He disrobes, completely, he is now nakey. The man meditating on the rocks attempts to stare away. Ommmmmm. An hour later they won’t let us back into the hotel.

3 hours later, we reconvene. They are now with their swimsuits. We sit, talk and laugh. The man I know, Caballito, tells me he likes me. His Amigo takes turns attempting to kiss me on my lips. Jokingly, but with full intent. Uh . . .

Caballito, serious and humble, says again, “I like you.” He searches for words. Lifts his glasses to unveil the stunning blue of his eyes, “but, I don’t think I can give you want you want.”

I smirk. Amused. “And, what is it that you think I want?”

He stumbles with his words again. (At least, he speaks English.) “I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I just want to F___ you . . . . and I could.”
If anyone else said this, I would hit him, but, he is humble and simple. Awkward, as if he is a schoolboy. Genuine, and despite his words, not cocky. Either way, there will be no romance and/or sex with Caballito. I do hope that a friendship will bloom and result in horses and more random moments.

The weekend ends. I can’t bring myself to see Rediscoveringme. Too much time has passed. It seems as if it would be a meeting of physicality. . . and I have no interest in just sex. I need his soul first. And then I need the sex. Want it VERY MUCH. But, his soul is too far-gone when I am left here alone. I remember Marriedwithababy’s ending statements from last night after I turned both him and Shaker down. “What the hell are you interested in?” He was desperate to see me interested in someone, anyone. “Kiss a girl even!” “You must be asexual.”
And with a hmmmmph, he walked away.

And I thought and continue to do so, why am I unable to crave sex without affiliation, just pure raw sex? Maybe I should see Rediscoveringme, stop being so evasive. I am longing to feel alive. Longing to be one with him. Our bodies . . .

Parte 1. Los Americanos de “If you want my body and you think I am sexy” . . . Don’t tell me!

A random weekend. One chock full of straightforwardness. It reminds me of the time I smiled at drop-dead handsome man at the gym, amazed at my candor. I had returned from PR and I suppose the sun-kissed me, was also a more confident and secure me. Fast forward to him insisting on getting to know me right then and there. Initially, over coffee, which progressed to us on my roof. I assumed it was to continue chatting . . . yet as he breathed into my neck, he told me he only had interest in getting to know me physically. A perfect arrangement. We would be monogamous sex-buddies. I walked away from Mr. Handsome . .

So, this weekend has left me wondering . . . why am I so incapable and/or uninterested in only physical relationships and where is it written on me that I am the perfect candidate for such? Is this normal? Surely, it is known that for women, the emotional aspects of sex are crucial. But, I also doubt that all women are as cold as I? And is it common for men to be so straightforward?
Shaker, a friend of my ex’s, randomly texted me on Friday night stating he was at the El San Juan Hotel with his buddy, Marriedwithababy. I was giddy with excitement. I felt as if a gift from New York was here to satisfy my longing for the city and friends.

2am He is kissing me. Telling me how he always felt a connection, about the unexplored passion between us. How much he always wanted to get to know me. How he was drawn to me . . . yet, I was the ex. “Timing is everything,” he said.

Quizzically, I look and I said, what happened to your girlfriend. Aware that Shaker finally had a girlfriend from his birthday I attended a few weeks ago. He was happy. He was no longer the single bachelor, the typical guy of New York. Now in front me, he tells me, “She is still around. Perhaps, she is the one. My life is lacking passion.”

Ok. Great Shaker. So come have a passion infused weekend with me and cement the fact you should break up with her? Why is this so common? The comforting stage of relationships. Your heart is already gone, but your unmentionables need to stay?

I have no respect and/or empathy for people who stay in relationships past their expiration.
I leave the El San Juan Hotel. Erasing the ink of the laid-out itinerary for tomorrow. I want to hang out with them. Want to fill my New York void. However, my body is stuck in bed the entire day. In the evening, I go to dinner. Conveniently, an hour late. I ask for a glass of wine. He raises an eyebrow, “no cocktail?” No, I immerse myself in conversation with one of the other gentlemen. I enjoy myself, but I realize perhaps I turned my corner of the table into a private date. My body turned away from Shaker, I wanted to make it clear that I was not his.

Shaker, Marriedwithababy and I go to drinks afterwards. I am enjoying myself. We are laughing-it’s not an awkward affair. The evening continues. Then, Shaker restarts his engines.

Shaker: Attainingme, kiss me.
Me: No. You have a girlfriend.
Shaker: But, you agree there is something between us.
Me: It’s irrelevant.

At this point, I believe there was a rant asking for confirmation that we could go on a proper date and he would have a real shot if he broke up with his girlfriend. At some point during the rant, I turned from the object of pursuit into the evening pimp. Amazed at his admitted transparency–how evident his pure goal of sex was.

I gave a full run down of the girls that would be found in the lobby of La Concha: Attractive. Fashionable. Champagne drinkers. La Placita: Younger. Beer. Return to college days. El San Juan Hotel. We both agree that logistically, with his room upstairs, that this is perhaps, the best bet. However, we took a detour to Divas, a strip club. It was unlike the clubs in New York. Only lightly littered with some overweight men. It was dead. Depressing. Shaker found a girl with a nice bottom. Took her upstairs. Marriedwithababy turns to me. Makes his proposal. What the fuck am I? Why, oh why men? Someone restore my faith.

Continued . . .

I feel different.

I drove home. The words in my mind sprinting, poetic. If only I could regurgitate them precisely here.

I feel full. Satisfied. Leaving Starbucks with a completion, satiated not only from my sugar-free, non-fat, extra foam latte, but deep within. I want to go home and run to my dog, kiss him, hug him. I love my dog, always, but I never display an extreme outpouring of affection upon walking in the door. Perhaps much like my father who would tune out to the TV at the end of the day, nothing left to give, depleted.

I have changed. It’s as if a part of me was missing and has been found. I am capable and calm. Knowing that everything is about to change. For the first time in a long time, I am able to work. Focused, motivated. Its amazing, The knowledge of what will come from a directed energy. I know our projects will come through. I know if I only I reach a little deeper, like an athlete running a race. The ability to dig deep, find an untapped energy is what sets records. Just working is not enough. Or rather, working, truly working, is the secret. I feel as if I hold the key. As if some internal conflict resulted in a daily war- distraction, procrastination, employee, not rainmaker.

Now the longer hours invigorate me. A second wind. The knowledge that if I take the helm, the ship will sail. I also know that I am failing miserably at writing my mind’s earlier sentiments-so perfect they were.

I try and remember what my mind was thinking. I was thinking of Yammy. A true friend, and I wonder if a woman, a true friendship is what was missing. And I think of “The Secret Law of Attraction” by Talane Miedaner. A book I started lightly reading. I stopped. Planned to revisit. Am yet to do so, however I did steal this concept—how we are limited and controlled by our unfulfilled needs.

As I write this, I am so content. I am sure I have felt this unstoppable before. However, I remind myself, “with every high comes a low.” Perusing my memories, my past highs were not so calm, they were full of giddiness, a “pinch me-I must be dreaming” feeling. I wonder if I have ever truly felt this . . full. Ironically, my life at the moment would suggest the opposite. Owed two paychecks. Spending ability of only the cash in my wallet (less than $40), bills unpaid, my mother, no love interests  . . .

Which reminds me this entry was supposed to be my list- but as I drove home I started listing in my mind, those items that I desire. Thinking about the law of attraction and the power of actually receiving that of which you ask for. Oddly, I questioned if this Mr. Right is what I want now. I thought so. I craved an intimacy, needed it. Perhaps, this was my unfulfilled need dictating my life. Maybe Yammy and Rediscoveringme provided satiety.

The corners of my mouth upturn, a smile forms. For some reason, I have a feeling that now that I just want, don’t need intimacy from a partner, that’s exactly what I am about to find. 

That elusive thing called “chemistry”

I am renaming Soulmate to Rediscoveringme because he is not my Soulmate and that I know. However, he was the one that awoke my soul. Quieted the frustration in my decision to be alone. Reaffirmed my decision to not date the great men that would make amazing companions.

I believe last night I was torn, feeling that I had closed my heart to the world. As if I was guilty of the accusations that I keep a fortress around me, perhaps I do, but the walls crumble when someone makes my heart skip a beat.

So, Rediscoveringme just left. When I wrote him that I was conflicted last night, he replied with the most perfect answer of wanting to see me today, not with expectations or to tear off my clothes, but to hear my thoughts. I have only seen him four times now, yet his comment reminded me of what I felt when I first spent time with him.

And again, I feel my role in his life is similar to his in mine. We are each others’ mirror and in it, we see what we already know. I still barely know him.

Yet tonight, I believe I almost made him cry. Earlier I told him what I expressed below. I wonder why this stranger is the one with whom I can share my emotions. And I believe everyone’s goal when dating and meeting someone should be to experience such. I don’t recommend pouring out your heart or unleashing a tirade of emotions, but I believe our goal should be to be “real.”

What makes a date great? What is behind this connection we are all searching for?  What are the date topics and conversations that will elicit such?

I think back to the common link between the men that have given me butterflies over the years. Beyond initial attraction, it was a feeling of shared interests, seeing myself in them, imaging my desired life synergistic with theirs (more to come on this), and always, seeing through a certain exterior that they were generous and had a heart full of feelings (ie. That they are contemplative and not permanently on a high,in in a non-affected, “manly” state. As if, clicking with them would open a world of intimacy and sharing of our deepest thoughts.)

It’s not as simple as a man who makes me laugh or who is intriguing, active, or ambitious.

I think my next post should be “drawing Attainingme’s Mr. Right”, specifying what traits I believe my desired mate has . . .

Is there a common link between the people you have fallen for?

The continuing saga of unavailable guys

Someone help. I lie here and there is a deep-seeded longing coupled with a confusion. Wondering what I really want . . . My ex, my bestest friend in the whole world, I, the “love of his life,” wrote to me a month ago, “stop looking and you will find.” I denied my looking. I knew I longed to meet someone, but I also knew I didn’t want to just meet anyone. I wanted to meet someone who really made me tick. I longed for continuity in my life. Someone to share my inner trappings and musings. Someone that was there as I straddled my disparate lives.  Someone that could have my heart, albeit a sometimes missing presence. Someone that I knew I could be utterly devoted to.

Yet, I fail to see anyone that makes me tick. And my seeking thoughts are comprised of only that. Not searching for someone to spend lonely moments with, or that I just thoroughly enjoy, I want someone that could potentially be the one.  However, I am in no rush. No ticking clock. Just a clock that doesn’t know what to do as it passes time.

The time is passing and as I find myself incapable of exploring great men unless they make my heart leap, my relations are short bouts of great men who are emotionally unavailable. With them, I am not concerned about losing feelings for them and being confronted with having to confront them. I don’t press fast-forward on our future to discover a potential ending of me ripping their heart out and breaking it in two. I acknowledge that they will do the heart breaking, however I am much less concerned with them breaking my heart than me breaking someone else’s.  I can venture into waters and risk someone hurting me, yet I can’t venture and risk hurting someone else. (I assure having my heart broken from someone hurts and perhaps more, but I tend to shut off and throw walls up and all sorts of things. I hermit in my misery. It is awful. However, it doesn’t have it’s day until its due. I let it play out, unlike my inability to give a man who truly adores me a chance.)

I may sound like a martyr, but I assure the above dilemma is borne from a selfish place. As I write this, it becomes clear that I have some great pain with confrontation. I recant the moments of feeling trapped and suffocated–unable to confront and thus prolonging my discomfort. Perhaps, I am so scared of confrontation that the discomfort I have endured in the past haunts me.  And so I doubt that I am so concerned about hurting someone, I am concerned about hurting myself, just in a much less obvious way, perhaps. (I can’t tell you if this in fact true or the life behind my obsession with unavailable men, but for this evening, err morning, it is my theory.)

So to the men in pursuit of me: Matt Damon, MiCarino, Navy Seal, Short Beckham, and Rico Suave, I apologize, but you are killing me. Matt Damon, I believe your amazing email about me is the catalyst of my lonely inactive heart starting to audibly ache. A heart that has been alone and a body that has not had regular service for 18 months!

And yes, I hate the way this post reads. But I needed to write this, for these thoughts would turn friends’ ears deaf. I am so sad. So empty. So lonely. The fact I am adored and liked, yet unable to love back when it’s all I want to do makes me feel like an ice-princess. Not cuddly, not loving. Soulmate made me remember that I am . . . yet his presence in all of this now is too much for me to handle.

I am supposed to see him tomorrow. He wanted to come over tonight. Our bodies drawn to each other. I made other plans. Then, he was to come over after. I failed to write back. My thoughts running rampant from my dinner with two recently single women. Feeling as if I couldn’t listen and be there anymore for them. As if I started to resent them for having great relationships even if the guy turned out to be an assclown.  My thought being, if we are all destined to meet someone at a certain time, the time before is better spent in relationships where great memories were created than single indefinitely. Maybe I am having an Attaingingme Pityparty . . . maybe I sound crazy, and I am, I am crazy sad. 

Are you tall, dark and handsome? Can you be my Mr. Unavailable that is Available . . . I am willing to travel 🙂

My soul called and yours answered.

Closing off. No anger. No pain. I feel as if I was about to take off on a jet—an adventure awaiting me. No initial awkward dance or introductory period—it seemed to have been covered all within the first hour. That hour putting an end to my resistance, my moral dialogue, my knowledge of the emotional consequences that awaited me only. It was all lost as the sun set Friday night- the sky, a fanciful pink.

In my apartment as I stood pressed against his body, my mind still high from our conversations, my body calmed with pleasure, I looked at his omniscient eyes and felt as if I was exactly where I was supposed to be. As if I just discovered a part of me that was missing. It wasn’t that I pictured a future or felt that I found the one, but I felt as if I found the one “right now.” As if in this moment, our souls fit together like two long lost puzzle pieces. How I didn’t know I much I needed him, but I did.

Now, 4 days later. I feel as I am on the tarmac-watching the jet take off. The whirlwind adventure that could have been, becoming a single memory. Nothing more than a night of wonderful dreams. My desire to see him taking on indifference. I am ok with this. No frustration that normally accompanies liking someone and realizing that it doesn’t have the effortless energy that comes with falling in love or finding the one. Past memories of feeling my heart throbbing for no good reason over someone that could have been, but never was.  Now though, my heart still completely intact.

However, I can recognize that I cannot recall a time when I felt my soul found a match until now. I once met a man I felt I was going to or could marry. But Rediscoveryme makes me realize that my soul just found something it never has. I cannot help but read and think of him. Imagine excursions. My mind noting our conversation. Everything seems to remind me of him. How can one night form such a basis? How can a few hours of conversation touch me in so many ways?