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Refusing to admit that I actually miss him

September 19, 2007

Despite the complications, I’m liking this being in a relationship thing right now. As a pathetically hopeless romantic, I am moved more by little things than grandiose guestures.

I woke up one Sunday morning to leave for church and he had washed my car. Not just hosed it off, but really washed it, grimy wheels, fingerprinted glass, dirty floors and all. Not only that, but he repaired the part in the vinyl that I tore when I was moving stuff into storage. I had mentioned it on the phone in passing one day, and it touched me that he remembered. I think that was the point that I thought that I was starting to fall for him. I knew for sure the night I came back after having visited with Dale and he had made one of his mother’s Italian recipes for dinner, knowing that I would be upset when I got back. He didn’t make me talk about it (I didn’t want to), he just wanted me to relax and enjoy the meal.

I called him this afternoon to see how his day was going because when we spoke this morning, it was off to a rough start. When he answered the phone, he asked if I was calling to remind him that he missed me being around. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized that I do miss him — cuddling at night while we watch the news, waking up in the morning to a hot cup of coffee, meeting for lunch to make a bright spot in a bad day.

He was going to fly in to Phoenix next weekend so that we could see each other, but since the airfare was so high, he decided against it. Instead, he’s going to meet me when I head to Vegas in a couple of weeks for a conference with my new job. It’s going to be a long three weeks.


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