Broken heart.

I recently reconnected with a friend from college. Actually, this friend is a woman I was madly in love with for several years, a lesson I had to learn about what it meant to be in love with the idea of someone rather than the person. For two years I held out hope that she would move to California and we would be together. I was 19, a deranged romantic, incapable of enjoying the freewheeling sex and abandon that comes with being a precocious teenager. I had worked for a psychiatrist for a summer transcribing couples therapy sessions – imagine Neo in the Matrix learning not martial arts, but marital arts. I could not shut off the need for an emotional connection to be intimate with someone, so when I did find someone I desired who was a mix of renegade, wicked wit, and beauty I was crippled like Superman in the Kryptonite aisle of the Villain Superstore.

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