Britton and I broke up for good when I was around twenty-one, which means I've been effectively single for seven years. It was necessary. I had a lot of shit to process and a long way to go before I felt "myself" again. I'd lost myself with Britton, became someone I neither recognized nor liked, not wholly due to the toxic relationship. It was volatile and twisted and as far from an idealized version of love as it could be. He broke my heart--repeatedly--, and maybe I broke his, too. And then one day, I woke up. Suddenly, instead of wanting to spend the rest of my life with him (or thinking I did), I felt annoyed, even repulsed, by him. The thought of staying another hour with him became repugnant to me. While there were several factors that led to the drastic change of feelings (e.g., his complete lack of emotional support when my father was in the hospital), chiefest among them was the clearing of my head. I dusted off my rationality, reclaimed my dignity, took my long-ignored sensibility from the closet, and moved on, feeling better than I'd felt in years. I was single and free and happy. I focused on getting to know myself again, though I was barely like the naive eighteen-year-old of the pre-Britton era. I fancied I was tougher, more resilient for having endured the heartache, and wiser, more cautious for having learned from my mistakes.

           For years, I was content to be alone. I retreated from the world, limited my social experiences to family and a few close friends. I returned to writing, finishing entire novels and existing in the worlds of my characters, who were and still are better company than most people I meet. I learned to sew. I took up German and Finnish and linguistics in general. I researched everything I could in an effort to better myself and perhaps as an apology to my brain, which had vehemently argued against Britton but was summarily ignored. I got to know the new me inside and out. I learned my strengths and weaknesses, the things I liked and disliked about myself. I explored my sexuality, experimented, and didn't miss sex with men. With my lack of a social life, I had ample time to make up for my ignorance and stupidity over the last three and a half years.

           Fast forward to this summer. I had two months alone in Budapest, so I figured it was as good a time as any to plunge back into dating. I felt ready. I was good at casual. It suited my fickle nature and my aversion to affection. The sex was good, sometimes fantastic, and the conversations were enlightening. And then I met Ian, the last man I was with in Budapest. It wouldn't have even happened had my semi-regular hook-up not been in Germany that week. Maybe it was fated, maybe it was dumb luck, but when I shook Ian's hand that night, it felt significant. I felt a chemistry with him unlike anything I'd felt before. He was funny and intelligent and the most well-traveled person I'd ever met. He was genuinely interested in my research and work. He was kind, and when he spoke about teaching, my heart melted. The sex was intense--passionate but slow and full of something suspiciously resembling affection, except it didn't make me twitchy, like it usually would. And as he held my gaze, I felt a change, a ripple, a crackle in the air. I was connected with him. My heart was taken, but I didn't yet know it. He left Hungary, then I did, but the memory of our time together refused to fade, and my attraction for him only grew with the distance. I feel for him what I feel for Hungary--a soul-deep yearning to be reunited. What that means I don't know. During those seven years, I believed I would be single forever, and I was happy with that. I'd even begun to plan for a future accordingly. But that changed after I met Ian.

           I've never truly been in love, but I imagine this is what the precursor to it feels like. It's terrifying yet comforting, foreign yet natural. I want to hear about his family and travels and students and past. I want to experience life with him--both the mundane and the extraordinary. I want to travel with him, to hole up just the two of us in a cottage in the English countryside, to show him Hungary, and to discover new places together. I want to explore this brave, new world of not-singlehood with him. And, perhaps most surprising of all, he seemed to reciprocate my feelings. He felt a connection with me, was left wanting more after our brief time together, though it was meant only to be a hook-up. He lamented the distance, expressed desire and affection for me, called me "beautiful" and "stunning", and included me when he talked about future activities and travels. He wanted more than sex. He seemed to like my sense of humor and found my intelligence "exciting". I didn't have to prompt him to keep in touch; he made plans to Skype and even to fly to Florida to see me. Basically, he wanted me. It was breathtaking.