“...for some of us, one mile can be more to walk than thirty.”
― Francine Rivers, Redeeming Love

A recent encounter has graced my life with its presence, and the essence of it has been profoundly moving. Perhaps, I have traversed the paths of solitude for an extended period of time. It has been a considerable span of time since the torrential surge of unadulterated euphoria, born from both ardor and infatuation, has coursed through me. Nonetheless, I must admit that the experience was exquisite, albeit fleeting in nature.

From the very inception of our connection, we held in mutual recognition that our union was kindled by the fervor of desire and unadulterated lust. Consequently, we embraced candidness and eloquence in our exchanges. It was an arena where I could openly recount the most egregious chapters of my history, the unresolved scars of my past that lingered. Remarkably, I found solace in the absence of judgment or the presence of those telltale signs that typically warrant caution. I yearn not only for the companionship that once was, but also for the transparency that defined it.

Throughout this year, I've ventured through a handful of "talking stages." It has become evident, upon astute observation, that the realm of courtship is nothing but a minefield. To be candid, it constitutes cosmic chaos in the ecosystem. With this in mind, why not revel in the journey and have fun while at it?

Those who exude emotional openness are often caught in the intricate web of their own sentiments, consequently enduring the sting of searing disappointment. Likewise, the overly guarded individuals are plagued by incessant overanalysis, culminating in what? A fractured heart, just another broken blood pump resuming the duty it shouldn't have forsaken in the first place.