I dare to say the word. In this world of hurt, damaged people, I’ve met someone who speaks of love. I can’t say that he really loves me, because he doesn’t know me yet. Maybe he won’t, when he gets to know me better. But for the moment, I’m living in it. He says it, that word. It’s terrifying. I don’t let myself feel too much yet, but it’s tempting. The hurt would be colossal if he changed his mind. Or if I screw it up.
Getting my ducks in a row. I have talked to everyone who I’ve been involved with lately, Mr. Vertically Challenged, Mr. Wonderful, and lastly tonight, I hope, my ex-cop. For me, this relationship can’t work if I have boyfriends and lovers hanging around. That’s the first thing to kill it, not because it’s bad or forbidden, but because I can’t let myself be in love if I’m having sex with someone else. I can’t do anything that might potentially hurt someone I love. That’s me. (And that’s how I knew it was over with my husband, because the love I felt, or didn’t feel anymore, was never an issue. We were done.)