I tell people we aren’t dating because in my mind, dating means something else. Dating to me are two people who aren’t in a relationship yet, but maybe after they learn more about each other, they could be. And that’s not where we are. We are in a new sinister world where we already know each other. A world that’s both dark and light and honest and painful.
Plus we dated already. Back when you were freshly 27 and I was weeks into being 41. I swiped right on you and let you chase me while I was getting my feet wet again in the dating pool. It was clear immediately that you were my type. Young, educated, charismatic, and well put together. And I knew quickly that you understood my game. We went from meeting for drinks at the bar to letting you suck on my tits on the corner of Grand and Lake Park in the blink of an unsober eye while coked out skateboarding onlookers screamed into the night sky. It became this whirlwind of sex, day trips, food, and wine.Ultimately, I mistook your lust and ability to make me cum for passion, and your numbing effect on my pre-existing heartache for something more. Never revealing to each other that there were bigger issues we were covering with bandages. Living months in ignorant bliss until it ended in inevitable failure. And that word “love” became a painful dagger I threw too early. From the beginning, our was constructed to fall apart. You originally went on to Tinder to explore the world of dating, not to settle down. I went on to try to avoid the dark abyss of grief. That was our dating period.