Time: May to December, Year 8 with a short revival in March, Year 9
This one is the most difficult to write as I gave him a name that in all likelihood is a misnomer.
We met in autumn Year 6 when I first started the new program he was already eight months into. We were in a course and worked "together" one afternoon for an assignment. I was nervous because I didn't favour the way he looked - back then, was with the preening BT and later I would go for the overly child-looking Indie. He dropped the course and it seemed as if something awkward had transpired (it was all in my head). We had no reason to talk and no desire lived in me to until…
The winter of Year 8 when I was still with Chakotay but we were having problems before Christmas, even. I had a chance to talk to The One in a large, informal dinner session and at the end of the evening, I was enamoured. We gave him a ride home and the guys talked about stuff some restaurant served and one or the other said we should all hook up to go. That got me excited but when The One left, Chakotay said that was just lipservice and I was so disappointed….
I ended it with Chakotay because it was feeling wrong for several months and a week later, I ran into The One in a club. He was fun to talk to and we hung out all night. We traded contacts and I waited another month to hear from him. But when I did, it all began.
So you see, there were about two months were I couldn't tangibly dream about The One and I was forseeably alone. Once he did come into my life as a friend, all my gears were pointed towards him and within two months, after a "suitable break", we were going out.
This was the true Summer of Love, not that one in Year 5. Everything I learned about him made me like him more even though what I was learning about him wasn't all perfect. They were all endearing and people would say afterwards that I put him on a pedestal. We traveled together. We raced together. Sometimes I could close my eyes and we were family. He met my parents. That was splendid. I met his mother. I was a wreck.
All too soon, I was leaving the city and there was no way I could justify changing my huge plans for a nascent relationship. I was ecstatic enough that we weren't calling it quits simply because we were going to be separated.
Our correspondance was beautiful for the first two months and I made one illicit trip back home that was like a honeymoon - we went to a very private inn - for a weekend.
Then he went away for two months and things changed from the traveling and in his career so that when he returned I had this tingly feeling from very terse communication that something was amiss. You see, we had plans to start the holidays together but he saw me only to break up with me in person.
That was the worst holidays ever. I didn't have BE to talk to and I cried endless tears and got drunk twice, once to the point of vomiting in a public bathroom followed by crying the hottest tears. I wanted to reach out and talk to him and it felt like he was the coldest person in all the world. I was horridly depressed in the winter.
And then in March, he told me he was in the city and when we came together we had a tryst, not all the feelings were gone. I pleaded again but to no avail. It's a long-distance thing. It's too long long-distance when we hadn't spent enough time actually together forming a base. So when he left, it was like being broken up with all over again.
It's a long recovery process as he was everything I was thrilled about and I had apparently not made the mark in his eyes. It's a huge gash to the ego and I am so delicately wounded still.
