I'm Gonna Write You A Letter... I'm Gonna Write You A Book...

Ben and I dated for three years ... with a nice healthy seven month break in the middle for me to go to Ireland, and for him to learn how to be a better boyfriend.  It was complicated and emotional.  When it was good it was great.  And when it was bad... well, ya know.

He was in town, and asked to stay with me one night of his trip.  Thinking that we were past all the romance and break up drama, and in all essence, “buds,” I agreed. 

As any outsider might have predicted, there were some shenanigans of sorts when he was here.  Completely unexpected and accidental.  I was actually sick as a dog – coughing up lungs left and right – so in my half-asleep stupor, I’m not totally sure what I said afterwards.  But he got offended and went to sleep on the couch.  We didn’t say much about it the next morning, and went our separate ways.  Meaning he left, and I stayed in bed with the ebola virus I had somehow acquired.

That background info is necessary because a few days later, we had a huge talk (online, how mature) about how he never really put me in the past, and how he’s now realized and understood everything I  was telling him then, but he wasn’t digesting at the time.  I guess the whole thing gave me some peace of mind... but so many years later it’s kind of like “Well... ok cool.  Thanks for keeping me posted...”  We made no further plans to get back together or anything. 

So we send each other the occasional friendly text.  He’s a good 8 hours away, driving from me, and wants me to come visit at some point.  Which I think I will.  I have family near him and will be interviewing for grad schools up there as well. 

He told me today that he wrote me a letter.  Like... put a stamp on it, and toss it in the mailbox- letter.  He claimed it was just because he wanted to write a real letter to someone.  And that it wasn’t a big deal.  But I feel like anything that comes in the mail via personal correspondence is kind of a big deal.  And now I’m DYING to know what it says.  E-mail has trained me to expect instant gratification in all things.  If you send it- it’s instantaneously received. Ah well.  The waiting game begins.

This time of year is a bit depressing, with Valentine's Day coming up.  It really forces me to look back on every relationship I've had (for the record, I've only been single two out of the last TEN valentine's days.  Yup, twice in a decade.) and wax nostalgic about all of them.  Good old Ben.  

-V