I’ve gone through a couple boyfriends since Mark died.
One was just for fun (George – he was my happy place) and the other I thought was my chapter 2 (my Metalhead Poet) but wasn’t.
I’ve hurt. I’ve cried. I’ve gone on a number of crappy first dates through Plenty of Fish. I had almost decided that I’m not destined to find love again.
And then I did. I found my Sexy Chef.
I met him on POF. Had a date. Threatened to kill him. (literally – I said to him “I’m going to kill you if you don’t let me sleep). Had another date. Got into a fight type thing. Told him flat out that I didn’t want to date him, and that I was happy to be friends but for a number of reasons (the fight being one of them) I didn’t want to date him.
We became friends. We talked. A lot. And then… I started to fall for him.
He traveled six hours to take a chance that perhaps we might have a real connection.
We have an amazing connection. I’ve fallen in love with a man who is kind, considerate, respectful, loving, caring and so passionate and supportive about me being me.
We mesh well. We communicate well. We… … do other things well. We are very compatible.
This weekend, I met his family – most of them. We spent a night with his mom and step-dad, his brother and his sister-in-law and his niece and nephews.
They are lovely people. Really freaking awesome people. Despite my overwhelming anxiety before I got there, I was quickly made to feel welcome and I felt at home.
It’s amazing, finding love again. Finding the place where bliss and joy meet in a potential future. And discovering that I can open my heart again. Being able to place my heart in someone else’s hands, and trust that he will keep it safe… that is an amazing thing.
I have found love again. And it’s beautiful. And he loves me. In all my beautiful broken-ness.