Breaking up is hard to do

Heart: No. Head: Yes.

Realization about Hinge Date #1 whom I started dating Memorial Weekend.

I’m working on a freelance article and images of Hinge date #1 are popping in my head. They are all in bed. These were our best times. Whether it was rollicking, frollicking goddamn great sex… (Goddamnit will I have that great of sex again? Will I? God I hope so. Damnit.) Or me with my head on his shoulder listening to him talk about the great things he sees in me. Fuck.

But the other times were just eh. I mean on the surface they sound cool maybe. I don’t know. Like two weeks ago when he made me dinner Friday night then we smoked cigars on the tiny deck listening to music and slow dancing (because I made us). Then he wanted me to watch America’s Got Talent. So I did. And it was okay. But that kinda sounds like an 80-year-old couple too doesn’t it? But it was nice. Ish.

Ugh.

My head is trying to get me to rethink this break-up. At this point in time, it’s me saying last night, “Hey I need some space to think for a bit and I’m not going to see you this weekend.” But I know.

I know it’s over.

My heart isn’t in.

Head: yes. Heart: No.

Funny thing is with Hoppy Sporty-Sport my heart was full on INNNNNN and my head started rethinking when he forgot to propose to me.

They both need to be a yes. Correct?

Anyway bed was our best times. Always.

He was a fixer. He put up curtains for me, waxed and detailed my car, fixed my headlights, got me an electric coffee grinder, cooked for me and did my laundry.

He wrote sweet texts sometimes. He said nice things almost always.

WTF heart. What’s your deal?

I gotta listen to it. I know it’s right. Damnit.

Let the broken begin so the healing can happen.

Ugh.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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