The Day You Blocked Dr. Douglas

The next time you think you want to reach out to him I want you to read this. 

I want you to remember. 

Last night you felt like such a fool. 

You let your longing dull your vibrance.

You reached out and he viewed it eight minutes later but said nothing.

Because now it's been three weeks. 

And nothing has changed. 

The next time you think you miss him or that what you had is special I want you to remember today. 

The day you decided to cut your addiction. 

It's not fair. He gets to watch you, and follow everything you post, see everything that's going on in your life, and look at all your pictures and just say nothing. You get nothing. And he gets all that.

And the morning after realizing it would never stop, your attempts to reconnect, your desire to reach out, to get some reaction, something, anything, fucking tell you to fuck off FUCK.

The morning you decided you were out of control. 

You are an addict. 

The morning you decided your best friend was right, it wasn't fair, and he needed to no longer watch your life. 

The morning you blocked him on Instagram and Facebook, you felt a little stronger. 

And even proud of yourself. 

Day 1 of detox, fast, no contact the month of June.

What can I do to support you in this endeavor? Besides confiscating your phone for the entire month?

You felt the support of your friends. 

The day you blocked him you got your first paid modeling gig.

You joined the site a week ago and had no idea what to expect.

All because the photographer said you are a natural and were born to do this. 

Because he believed in you. 

So you built a profile.

And the day you blocked him you got your first message.

Please let me know if you can work it out, looking at your pictures I think you will be wonderful for this.

And when you asked your manager if you  could come in late to work that day to take the gig, he said, Absolutely, no question.

The day you blocked him you officially became a model. 

You felt giddy and so fucking excited. 

The photographer already mentioned a second shoot and he hadn't even worked with you yet. 

And you were so loved at work they had no problem working with your schedule. 

You felt valued and remembered you're good at your job.

The day you blocked him you opened up several accounts and hit your sales goal you set for the month even though the past few weeks you were so fucking sad you barely sold anything. 

Because you were numb. Because he stole your joy.

The day you blocked him you went home on your lunch break and played the piano and sang some of your favorite songs. 

And Cartier jumped on the couch to listen and he told you he missed listening to you sing and you missed it too because singing is your gift and sitting at your piano by the window makes you happy. 

Today you forgot to feel sad because you were too busy remembering to be happy. 

Today you remembered how much you love Kinderschenen and how you wanted to start playing it again. 

You decided to go to Powell's after work to get the book your friend messaged you about and to get the book the artist at coloring night had recommended.

You were already in workout clothes so you planned on going for a run around the waterfront. 

You remembered how much you love running and you were excited at the idea of finally making time for it again. 

The day you blocked him your new lover texted you. 

I'm free whenever!

And you suddenly felt really happy about seeing his smiling face in those black glasses again. 

And your friend you hadn't hung out with in months said he could grab a drink after work and you talked for hours and you hadn't even realized how much you'd missed him, how his presence calmed your spirit. 

And he reminded you he'd told you it was a trap months ago and when he hugged you goodbye you both held on a little longer but that was enough because sometimes love didn't need to manifest in full passion sometimes it remained controlled and only fluttered in his green eyes every once in awhile. 

The day you blocked him your friend texted you Umm this notification just popped up.

$737 14 Hour Flight to Dublin

And you did it you fucking booked your flight the day you blocked him your dream became a reality, the urge you felt outside the Mediterranean last fall, I think I'd like to visit Ireland and she'd dreamed she'd been in Ireland too, I was with a girl, maybe it was you?

And he had said Oh is it a pipe dream when you told him you were going to Ireland too because he didn't believe you didn't believe in you didn't see you as anyone worthy of adventure capable of greatness. 

And you are. 

And when you logged on to your computer you hadn't been on in months, months and months, and when you went to choose your seat the messages popped up You're repeating yourself...You're grasping at straws....Your friends are right.

Fuck he was mean.

FUCKING MEAN.

Exactly one fucking mirrored year ago.

FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKK

YOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUU

The day you blocked him you took your life back. 

You didn't feel sad one minute of the day. 

Not a single fucking one. 

You felt alive and full of hope and talented and beautiful and desired and excited 

For life

You felt excited about your life again. 

Because he was no longer a part of it. 

No longer an observer of it. 

He was gone. 

You were free. 

The day you blocked him you let in love and light. 

Something you hadn't felt something you'd tried to feel wanted to feel for him through him never with him. 

And you climbed into bed that night finally balanced finally sane and at peace, your heart at rest. 

The day you blocked him you were finally yourself again. 

Bumble is the Worst

I've been the Queen of Tinder for years.

I wear my crown proudly. 

So when a girlfriend told me about this dating site called Bumble, I wasn't so sure. 

But out with the old, as they say, and why the fuck not.

What did I have to lose?

So I've been on for... a week?

And so far I've encountered more condescending, self serving arrogant mother fuckers than all my years on Tinder combined. 

What the hell is wrong with you Rumble?

I've renamed it because I mistakenly keep calling it Rumble anyway. And Bumble is a pretty stupid name anyway. 

I talked to one guy and we started to make plans to meet up. 

And since I'm always in the city, I suggested a bar I heard was supposed to be good. 

To which he responded, umm, can you come to Beaverton?

I should preface this with earlier in our flirtatious banter he said he would meet me "anywhere you want."

So to suddenly be a square on the whereabouts of our rendezvous was a buzz kill. 

And since I didn't want to meet at a Mcmennamins in Beaverton, as those are literally the only bars in suburbia that exist, I simply wrote that I was in the city tonight and perhaps we could meet another night. 

To which HE responded, Well you have to come back at some point right?

Eew.

It's not the not wanting to drive to northeast Portland I don't understand. 

Some people don't constantly drive into the city like I do, I get it. 

It was the dipshit tone he used and as mother always says, this is a man on his best behavior, it only goes downhill from here. 

So his best behavior was, Umm, I don't like to spend gas money on pussy.

Blegh.

Next. 

Next mother fucker, maybe I should rename the app mother fucker because that is actually fairly accurate, and he seems flirty and fun, so we make plans to meet up spontaneously --which I love, by the bye, what are you doing right now? Let's meet.--But then he's like, send me a pic?

Send you a pic?

There are five on my profile, asshole.

And I'm thinking, ok, men are visual, maybe he thinks he's being flirty, so I just say, You won't be able to miss me in my pink lace dress. 

To which he responds, I won't believe it without a pic. 

Uuuuuggggghhhhhhh.

So you know what I said because I give absolutely NO fucks?

I said, You know, I just wanted to get laid tonight and you've totally taken the fun out of it. 

And he wrote some dick response about being cat fished before and wanting to make sure he wasn't "wasting his time" and I should get over myself. 

I have never encountered such difficulty on Tinder. 

On Tinder you talk, you make plans to meet and you meet. 

And sometimes, you fuck.

But it's not so fucking difficult. 

And you know what? 

I'm not gonna hold your fucking hand through this process. 

Yeah, sometimes maybe people won't be as hot in their pictures when you sit across from them at the bar. 

That's part of the risk you take in participating in this dating game. 

Just like I, and every poor bitch out there, takes a risk when she agrees to go home with you. 

Maybe you have a tiny dick. 

Maybe you won't know how to use the average sized dick you do have.

Maybe you'll high five me after sex or tell me to move down the bed because you don't want me to hit my head and you're gonna be Jack Rabbit the Sequel. 

But I don't get to ask you to whip it out and show me at the dinner table. 

I have to take a fucking risk and just go for it. 

Because dating is a gamble. 

And if I have to put up with so much then you can fucking drive to the bar I want to meet and deal with the profile pictures as your only gauge of how fucking gorgeous I am. 

I don't have the energy to put up with this shit. 

So I unmatched both the fuckers and I even unmatched another asshole I was supposed to meet tonight simply for the constant borderline creepy messages he sent me. 

Are you not wearing a bra in that one picture and did you blur out your nipples?

Wow. 

Fucking wow. 

Now that I know you've already been jerking off to me I'll pass on cocktails. 

Those rights are exclusively lover only. 

Or at least be a fucking perv in private. 

Let me have the delusion that you're a gentleman before the disappointing sex. 

Is that really so much to ask??

the cost of being a unicorn

I'm not sure I always trust timing. 

I certainly never understand it. 

I suppose I should. 

Trust it, that is.

I guess I can buy the whole things working out for a reason and if it's not meant to be let it go it will come back if it is.

But you know that all feels like a lotta bullshit to try to soften the blow that sometimes things just get fucking messed up.

And sometimes I really just think that's poor decision making on their part. 

Or my part. 

But we're obviously talking about his mistakes here. 

Naturally.

I am definitely someone who responds to people's actions. 

That's ridiculous. 

Everyone responds. 

Then if everyone responds, I really respond. 

Like, the normal reaction would be to plan another date, I'll plan six dates. 

I'm an extremist in response. 

So when he told me he had to follow his heart and ditch me to pursue some other vagina, I hopped back on Tinder for the first time in weeks.

And I made a few dates. 

And the day I hopped back on to Tinder I made a date for that same night. 

With a married couple. 

I've been curious for awhile and the idea of being the guest star in some couple's bed has always seemed like a fantasy I was made for, considering I've been the other woman for many a fool and also, I'm a star, bitch.

I've never been with a woman before and adding a man to the mix seemed the best way to test those waters, a little something old with something new. 

I was excited for my date and a little nervous but mostly excited and excited for how adventurous I was being when it had only been a few days since I'd heard from him and his I just don't know how to respond to you right now and if he didn't know he would never know because after a year of missing me if you're not falling all over yourself writing a love song to win me back then this isn't what I thought it was anyway.

So I put my energy into someone new. 

We met at my favorite bar and I wore my favorite little sequin velvet dress and when I walked in some ladies asked if I was performing. 

No, I just have a date.

You look amazing, they gushed, and it was just the little ego boost I needed for my night of potential debauchery.

I didn't really know what to expect but when they got there and we all started talking it felt more like we were long lost friends catching up then anything saucy or scandalous. 

She was quirky and adorable and they both laughed at my stupid jokes and he was sweet and made lingering eye contact and I felt comfortable and excited. 

We made plans to meet again that week and after some goodnight kissing outside the bar I left, giddy.

And if I'd never been rejected by the kid I thought I could fall in love with I never would have gone back on Tinder and met this incredible couple who just happened to be in town for two weeks. 

Timing. 

And the next night I messaged him, the ex love, and he actually called me, Men still call? And it was nice to talk, though a little bit weird and we ended up talking for two hours in the middle of the night, which made it even stranger, Men talk on the phone for two hours? 

And I told him that if he'd never followed his heart to do what he needed to do I never would have had this other experience, an experience I think I kinda needed to have. 

And then he suddenly chimed in, Oh that. That fell apart the moment I made the decision.

I was silent.

What??

Yeah, that didn't work out. It actually didn't work out because of you. Because she found out about you.

More silence.

It took him like twenty, thirty minutes to share this and to say I was stunned would be an understatement. 

Why would she care you were sleeping with me? Were you ever actually broken up??!

Yes, but she already had an issue with you from before, she knew about you last year and knew I had feelings for you and--never mind, I shouldn't be talking to you about this. 

Umm. Yes you should! I deserve to know the truth.

Well who knows, if you'd never come to my concert, maybe things could have worked out. I guess we both had a strong impact on each other's lives.

I don't know what to say, was all I could get out. 

I genuinely didn't know what to say. 

I went to him that night. 

Even though I didn't know what was gonna happen. 

I didn't even know what I wanted to happen. 

But we were drawn to each other, like two little lost souls clinging to one another in the dark. 

And it felt incredible, the electricity once again dancing on my skin from being so near him.

And I didn't understand what timing this was. 

Or would be.

And when I left early in the morning he was too tired to even open his eyes to look at me. 

And then I never heard from him again. 

And I knew I probably never would. 

Pin Me Up

I believe in timing. 

I believe in truth.

I believe in the tiniest changes making monumental differences. 

You used to dress up all the time, my manager told me last week.

I was wearing leggings and a hoodie. 

I rarely paint my nails anymore. 

I'd sort of divided my life into two. 

The life I led at night.

And then I'd go through the motions in a fog at work. 

If I had more plans for the next night I'd set my hair on my lunch break and finish my makeup when I got off work. 

I couldn't tell you the last time I wore any jewelry. 

I haven't been myself for awhile. 

I don't really know when that happened. 

Or even why. 

But late Sunday night, as I flipped through the pages of Your Beauty Mark I suddenly knew what I needed to do.

I went into the bathroom and started setting my hair.

Pincurls, bobby pins zig zagged across my head. 

I used to go to sleep in pincurls every night, or every other night depending on how the curl set.

But I never did it anymore. 

So this night, with my little mermaid shower cap covering the soon to be curls on my head, I painted my nails my favorite shade of red. 

And the next day, I made myself get up earlier than I wanted, and I put on one of the dresses I was so excited about last year when pinup girl clothing was having a sale, and I tied an old shirt at my waist and paired it with a belt I loved and left the house with my red lipstick already on. 

And I felt like myself again. 

After work I ran some errands. 

A boy on a bike rode past me, his eyes following me as he continued to ride past. 

You've got that pin up look going, it works for ya, he said.

I smiled and thanked him as he was nearly out of ear shot by then. 

And I took myself out for dinner and the waitress told me I was so adorable and she just loved my look. 

Are you going to an event or is this just how you dress?

And I smiled and said, This is just how I dress. 

And it was such a small difference. 

Remembering to do the things that make me happy, that make me feel like me. 

That make me feel beautiful. 

And the photographer I shot with a month ago was such a random happenstance.

But was another reminder how much I love old Hollywood style. 

That's its who I am.

And because of those few shots which I honestly just wanted to make one particular fool miss me, it led to another shoot and connecting with other photographers.

And I even applied for a modeling site and was accepted. 

I got a Tinder match yesterday who is actually a photographer using the site to network. 

And he wants to shoot. 

And it's my look. 

My look they want to shoot.  

My pinup, old hollywood, film noir, glamorous look.

That I'd forgotten was so important to me. 

And it's just fashion. 

And just makeup and hairspray.

But it's me. 

It's an extension of my spirit.

My shine.

And experiences are worth having and there are some nights you need to go home at two in the morning and sleep for four hours. 

Because those nights are some of the most unforgettable. 

But most nights, most nights I want to listen to Peggy Lee before bed as I set my hair and choose the dress I want to wear in the morning. 

And everything else will fall into place. 

Because when I'm actually being myself, the epic connections will come to me. 

Maybe my next great love will even be a photographer. 

To be some man's muse?

Sweet bliss, yes. 

That's your cue, Batman

I talked to my Mom about you last night. 

I told her even though it's really fucked up I wish I could just be with you.

You're the only one who knows how incredibly fucked up I am and still thinks the sun shines out my ass. 

And that really is worth a lot isn't it?

I told someone how I wrote a really mean blog about you when I was mad once and you told me I was a good writer. 

I wrote hateful, shitty things and you responded by telling me I was talented. 

Fuck, I want a love like that in my life. 

I told you I always think about you when some guy has broken my heart. 

It really is kinda broken. 

I actually thought about doing coke last week. 

I didn't. 

I won't, cuz we all know how crazy addictive my personality is. 

Just dicks and whiskey, that's enough of an addiction for me. 

And sometimes cigarettes. But only when I'm already drunk. Cuz sometimes it's just like, fuck. Ya know?

You were there that night all those months ago, the night I was all butt hurt he had a girlfriend. 

It actually feels kinda ridiculous to be hurting over him again. 

How did we figure it out?

Pining for each other in a way that somehow still let us feel free to live without each other?

I guess that's what makes our screwed up connection so beautiful. 

He follows my posts like you. 

Reads my blog. 

I'm pretty sure he blocked my number again but he's never blocked me on facebook and I'm sure he never will. 

He likes to watch me. 

Who does that sound like? My mom asked me. 

Batman, I said. 

I guess that's why my brain thought he was supposed to be something great, you know?

His worship kinda felt like the way you look at me. 

But he always ends up cutting me out.

He won't communicate. 

And you would never do that. 

And it really calms my spirit knowing you're out there somewhere, rooting for me, sending me love in quiet moments when no one's looking. 

Everyone says it's not supposed to be this hard. 

Love. 

Makes me feel like I must be doing something wrong. 

Love always feels fucking hard. 

I love too much, I guess. 

Scare the shit out of everyone. 

I miss you. 

But sometimes I pretend I'm driving behind you. 

Or that you're gonna be waiting at the top of the stairs when I'm on a run. 

And we'll see each other and smile, and you'll give me a hug and squeeze me hard. 

And then we'll walk away and look back at each other. 

Because some things are never over. 

Even if they can never be. 

And I don't know why him and I can't send each other love late at night the way you and I can. 

But I don't think he ever loved me the way you did. 

But I wanted him to. 

And that's a start, right?

Believing in love. 

Believing in a connection strong enough to withstand years and separation and other bodies in our beds. 

I guess I just wanted to say I was thinking of you. 

And I wanted to thank you. 

For being the only man I've ever loved who didn't shut me out and run away. 

I will always love you for that.

Six years and counting, darling. 

Thank heaven some things remain when everything else surrounding me is in constant change. 

it's never over

I'm really glad I write. 

I'm glad for a lot of reasons but I'm specifically glad I write my pain. 

The point of keeping a diary is to remember things as they happen.

To let out whatever hope or rage or confusion is plaguing us.

And getting it out, writing it down helps me process my demons so they can be released. 

What's happening right now is a pattern. 

It's not new. 

It's not creative or even special. 

It's exactly what's already happened.

Only it's more fucking complex because he actually let me in this time. 

Maybe that's why the push back feels so much harder to accept. 

I looked back over last years entries, when we broke up and then it seemed we might reconcile and then we didn't and then he cut me out and it was over for good. 

And then this year, and things ended and then it seemed we might reconcile and then he cut me out and I suppose it's once again over for good. 

Every time he has let me in, emotionally, every time we've had conversations where we talk on the phone for hours, when he has confessed things he's never told me before, every time I get close to him in any intense way, he always pushes me away. 

Always.

I could plot a graph of the events that have happened between us and it's always the same. 

The times we were physically intimate things were fine. 

But when things got emotionally intimate, he'd cut me out and I wouldn't hear from him for weeks. 

Months. 

And now, who knows, probably years. 

It shouldn't, but it baffles me because he had a girlfriend for like, two years before me, and some other one for like nine months after?

So he surely must be capable of emotional intimacy or his relationships would never last so long. 

But for some reason with me. 

With me, I am always kept at arms length. 

And he left me this time with someday i'll tell you the truth but i can't right now.

I suppose I should tell myself I'm...special?

Other girls he actually has relationships with but me, it's all so fucked up and weird it like, can't be dealt with. 

Yeah, I don't think so. 

I can't buy it. 

I think it's actually very simple:

He doesn't love me. 

But he knows I love him. 

And there's comfort in that, for him.

It's healing for his soul to let in the love that always poured from my eyes. 

And then since he knew he couldn't love me back he'd always shut me out. 

I don't think it's as fucked up as it sounds. 

I think broken people just cling to anything to stay afloat. 

And I was always there. 

My heart. 

He knew I would love him when the world rejected him.

The strange part is, since I've learned more about myself, since I've discovered more about sex and had more partners since him than I ever had before him, he would have been surprised to discover I would have actually been okay filling a void.

I would have been able to take the poetry he spoke in bed and processed it with appreciation for the moment but understood he really meant none of it. 

I would have never spent the night or given him exclusivity. 

I would have told him about the good dates and the funny dates I was going on. 

I would have referred to him as buddy instead of lover. 

But part of his seduction, his charm, his game is that he believes himself a romantic. 

Which is such a contradiction in terms because romantics are genuine. 

Romantics mean everything they do and say to the very core of their being. 

Charmers and flirts are insincere. 

They use their whiles to achieve a goal, not because if they don't express the essence of their heart it would be unsettling. 

But because they want something from someone. 

It's a means to an end. 

Rather than the need to express truth.

Truth, beauty, freedom and love. 

He is not a romantic. 

He is an opportunist. 

And you know, it's fine because we're all fucked up and we all need to abuse something to survive.

And I get it. 

But I told my new lover how it is and what I'm about and that I'm not into sleepovers because I'm honest and transparent and fucking genuine. 

I would never play him a song and tell him he was the only one I'd played that for in seven years just to try and emotionally manipulate him. 

Just because I could. 

You don't toy with people for sport. 

You're honest about the fact you're fucked up and lost and missing the girl who dumped you. 

And thinking that losing yourself in my flesh would be a much needed distraction and you'd even enjoy yourself in spite of yourself. 

And you'd be happy to know I was mostly excited to explore sex with you because that was the only level we really connected on and maybe this could be a chapter in sexploration and self discovery together and we'd leave this changed, for the better. 

And it wouldn't be sad when things ended because what we'd shared would have been genuine and transparent and completely fucking real.

Instead of a hazy ambiguity of half truths and many lies leaving me feeling used and regretful. 

This is the oath of an ethical slut. 

One who knows how to take and enjoy without leaving someone depleted. 

I had what may be a one night stand, we still talk so who knows if we'll ever hook up again, and it was one of the most wonderful encounters with any lover I've ever had. 

Because there was truth and communication and it was so fucking genuine I felt comfortable spending the night with him, falling asleep in his arms, simply because of how he was with me. 

I never do that. 

Which is why I regret allowing myself that vulnerability with one who abused me. 

Someone as experienced in the ways of sex and women and relationships, someone who no longer has the excuse of being 28 (the most fucked up age any boy ever is) should really know better. 

He should work on his bedside manner and not trick women into believing he's sincere. 

He should be clear about his intentions and not send I miss you texts in the middle of the night. 

He should communicate. 

But he won't. 

And he never has. 

And it was a relief to remember this is exactly how he treats me when I get too close. 

Something about my skin near his makes him want to open up and tell me the most fucked up thoughts in his mind. 

And then something about me possessing such knowledge makes him want to never talk to me again. 

I am a good lover. 

I am voracious and insatiable. 

I am open and uninhibited. 

And I deserve,

no,

demand,

a partner who honors such openness, such curiosity and appetite with fucking consistency and communication. 

No more fucking games. 

I'm almost 35 for fucks sake. 

I don't have time for lost boys who both worship and despise me. 

I need a man who knows how to use my body, who will open up to me if he's comfortable letting me in, and who when it's ended, when our time together has halted, will respect the sanctity of my body, my well being, my spirit, with a communicative, honest farewell. 

A romantic doesn't disappear. 

A man who cares doesn't ignore. 

A man who loves me doesn't hurt me in the exact same way he already knows shattered my intense heart. 

I don't regret being the force that I am. 

But I do regret putting my body in the hands of one who has no respect for it, no care, no appreciation. 

I was an epic fool. 

how loud your heart gets

The happiest night this month seemed such an accident. 

I guess that's the truth with a lot of great joy.

You happen upon it so unexpectedly, the surprise is part of the charm. 

I had plans with someone else. 

It was coloring night and I had invited a boy (first ever boy to be invited to coloring night, epic shit).

And then my girlfriend texted me about a show.

Some band I'd never heard of but when I looked their songs up online they sounded rad. 

Fuck, I wanna go!

But what about coloring night?

I texted the guy and told him I was going to see a show instead because live music trumps everything. 

And I felt like the cool kids after downloading venmo and got my ticket and was stoked. 

When I got to the venue a girl walked up to me and told me I was stunning. 

I love women like you, she said. 

And I interpreted that to mean women who wear sequin dresses and red lipstick to a divey venue on a Monday night.  

I love women like me too.

My friends were running late so I planted myself amidst the crowd, listening to the opening band. 

The singer was incredible. 

Being there was incredible. 

I forgot how alive being at concerts made me feel. 

I suddenly felt 24 and hopeful. 

Sometimes I enjoyed being alone. 

My friend texted me they were downstairs having a drink but I wanted to keep hearing the band. 

I didn't want to be anywhere else.

The band finished and I went and joined my friends. 

By then the place was packed and we nearly had to play a game of Marco Polo to find one another. 

After an hour or so alone I was happy my friend was standing across from me smiling. 

Their excitement was infectious and even though I'd only heard thirty seconds of one of the bands songs I was excited too. 

The concert was incredible and it wasn't surprising that I ended up making my way to the souvenir table to snag one of the CDs. 

The band encored their encore and it was that euphoric state where it seemed the concert would never end and we'd just stay arm in arm, swaying and singing to the music, not a care in the world, not a thought other than pure enjoyment. 

A couple began to walk past me and I looked into the face of the girl and realized who it was. 

Dawn! I suddenly yelled, her face more stunned than mine. 

It was the girl who almost exactly a year ago I had fallen out with, right on the heels of getting dumped by both my lover and best friend. 

Things happen in threes so she was the last one in that trio of disappointment to remove me from her life. 

I'd messaged her for the first time just a week or so before asking if she wanted to grab a drink sometime. 

But she'd never written me back. 

And now here she was, standing in front of me, and the fact she was there flooded my heart and I threw my arms around her and hugged her. 

We talked for a minute and I said it was good to see her and she said I looked pretty. 

And I hugged her again. 

I held on to her so tight and for so long, I didn't even realize how much I needed to hug her, how much my heart needed to feel connected to her until my arms were around her. 

Her husband must have seen the overflow of love surging through me because he came up to me and hugged me after I'd finished hugging Dawn. 

They left and I felt this wave of peace wash over me. 

Who was that? My friend asked. 

That was the girl who broke up with me because she didn't think I was a good listener and she thought I was a bad friend. And I hadn't seen her in a year. 

Oh my gosh, my friend said. 

I looked deep into her eyes and said, Thank you for not breaking up with me. 

And she wrapped her arm around me and said, I could never break up with you.

And the music played on and we kept our arms wrapped tightly around each other and I felt so happy. 

I could have missed this. 

I could be at another bar with other people in some other moment. 

But I was here. 

And experienced that moment. 

And sometimes the deepest needs of our hearts do come true, at the moments we'd forgotten all about them.