Left to my own post-coital devices, I contact Tony (1)

Lewis left that morning before 7am. Exhausted, with sore insides and aching limbs, I crawled back into bed and fell asleep for a few hours. I had the day off of work.

I woke up, feeling somewhat melancholy. I made myself a coffee and went back into my bed, pulling my crisp white sheets up around my shoulders. All those niggling feelings about Lewis came to a head when he point blank ignored my question about seeing him again.

I pondered life and love. I thought about chemistry and thought about how effortless it is with some people.

Naturally, this train of thought took me to Tony. It had been almost a month since we’d last spoken. I missed him like crazy; rarely a day had gone by that I didn’t think about him.

In the quiet of my room, in my bed, listening to the birds singing outside my window, I realized time had done nothing to dull how I feel about him. I was in love with him, clearly. Despite all my better judgment. But this love had not made me blind. I know full well the likelihood of any meaningful change was Β minimal.

I had seen him online on POF several times and figured he’d been dating. Obviously, I hoped all his dates were mediocre. I wondered how things were going with him and his ex-wife and whether he’d done any more interesting work.

I looked at my phone. I wanted to talk to him. I debated for a long while the pros and cons of calling him. I questioned myself why, really deep down why, I wanted to talk to him. I remembered my friend who said I should be myself and act like I would with a girlfriend.

Clearly, in that case I would call. I just wanted to hear his voice and see how he was doing.

Finally, I dialed the phone…and wondered whether he would even take my call.

[part two]

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