I finally broke down. At 2 a.m. one morning, I found myself crying in a bar because of Mr. G. He didn't do anything—and that was the problem. Not to mention I felt incredibly alone after the speed dating and singles mixer debacle. So from one minute to the next I went from swaying to a song to sobbing in a bathroom stall. And then I did something I haven’t done since my days as a foolish and impulsive 20-something-year-old: drunk text.
"This is as real as I can get,” I quickly typed. “I feel you are my soul mate. You read my stories and it was clear. I am tired of waiting. I am tired of words. If you are serious about you and I then SHOW ME."
I reread the text quickly and pressed send without hesitation. Funny enough, I immediately felt better and surprisingly enough, suddenly indifferent. At that moment, I didn’t really care if Mr. G replied or not. I didn't expect anything from him anymore and assumed my words would scare him half to death anyway.
And then he did what he always does. He proved me wrong, once again. The next day I received his good morning text and wondered what to do next.