One Year

For almost as long as I have been in London, I have been someone’s girlfriend. I spent a mere month in the running for the International hook-up cup, before bowing out. I can barely remember what it’s like to rush into class, detailing my latest exploits with, Ireland, England, Jamaica, (insert country here). It took one weekend or in my case a hat trick of the UN variety, before I was the clear leader. But then I had to go and fall in love…

It’s not like I’ve never been here before, I have, 3 times in fact. I have run the gamete between love, lust, and even luke warm a few scars over. I’ve dated puppies, party animals, and most frequently the ones that don’t fit into any category other than What was I thinking? There have been serenading All-americans with freckles, Division 1 athletes, uniform toting jugheads, over confident frat boys, Philadelphia’s finest, men of match and of course more than a few questionable beer goggle finds. I’ve been woo’ed and wounded with words, almost as much as I have woo’ed and wounded others. Before him, there has been puppy love, fun love, and even a fake love or two.
But puppies never stay puppies long enough, their faces change, their hot breath turns stale, and they never have as much energy as in those first months. He was classically trained by rom-coms with flowers, candies, trips, and even poems were an ideal jumping off point to my love life. But that was until my puppy grew a beer gut and bit the hand that pet him.

Then there was the fun love, the kind that starts and ends with a beer pong. Our dates consisted of pimps and hoes parties, TGI Fridays, and binge drinking. But he was sweet, adoring and great with a guitar. It was perfect until I became the girl that not even a sweet boy could love.

Those shaped me just as much as the fake loves. The men that just weren’t that into me. The ones, I hoped would change. And even the one that loved his dick enough to immortalize it in latex. But without them, I wouldn’t be ready for the serious love.

Things have been challenging since the moment we met, since the moment he stared right through me and I watched him dance through the crowd, wondering how I could manage a snog away from the eyes of my date. But like most things, he took the plan right from under me, pulling me from my path to the bathroom and kissing me passionately enough for both of us. And since that kiss, my planning has been pointless. My plan was to sample the international buffet of men. To spend a year erasing each disappointment, fully realizing my inner Samantha or Carrie. My time of liberation and independence was interrupted with passion, comfort, and adoration. And no girl, even armed with an itinerary, can ignore that. We all want to be someone’s princess….

And I am his, one title I am comfortable with. Even at the eye of my storm, he can still find it in him to look at me with amazement (its probably because of the volume of my rants) and love. I wake up to words of adoration and tender kisses, even hours after those battles. He makes what is his, mine. He thinks it is his job to take care of me, financially and emotionally, yet still finds plenty of time to call me lazy when I litter his room with clothes or sleep past 10. Some days our challenges and differences seem impossible. And in those moments Glasses have been smashed, pictures cracked, and jealous words have been spoken at a deafening volume. We have never been perfect, our words don’t always translate and our actions can be misunderstood. But then tensions break and before I know it, I am back to the place we both feel safe, the nook.

And just like I thought following our first date, there is still something about him. Maybe it’s how he dances around in his underwear singing songs in Albanian, Turkish, or Greek. Or brings me coffee in bed and calls me to say good morning every time we wake up in separate beds. But mostly it’s the way he looks at me…

I don’t know where we will end up, maybe this will be just another great love in my story, maybe we will cross countries in defiance of visa battles, or maybe we will be exactly what each other needs to save us from ourselves.