You know it’s a good coffee date when the conversation leads to gender stereotypes and hyper-sexualization of society. I believe the term “meathead” was thrown around and a comment or two about how men are “gross” and then a few “in general” modifiers.
I already thought Dustin was cute, but his ability to discuss his own masculinity made him even more attractive.
“I love men,” I said. “I’ve fallen in love eight or nine times. And I still love them all. I collect them.”
I said the last part in gest, but I realized several days later it was true. I could write a book about the men I’ve loved (actually, I’ve already written the outline to this book and even have a working title). And I’m attached to them all.
It is like a collection, in a way – I think of them as mine: my heartbreaks, my love stories.
But now, that “my” doesn’t quite sound right anymore.
I don’t identify with any of those girls I once was – the girl in high school or university, the girl with Terry or the divorcé. I’m not any of those versions of her anymore – I might write her memoir one day, but I’m not going to hold onto her collection.
…especially when that collection is a menagerie of “broken.” I’m looking for the one who sticks – and I need some space to create that sticky, kind of messy, crazy love.
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