I didn’t go to class again, but I am writing. I guess that makes sense because I’m in my head more the last few days, rather than my physical self. Well actually, I’m in my heart. The tears flashed down my cheeks steadily on Saturday and they tempted to well up again on Sunday. But I’ve been able to keep them at bay, or at least in the rim. I’m trying to get my brain to take over, but my heart keeps trying to pump louder. I’ve listened to my heart for weeks and actually months instead of following what I know makes sense and is the right thing to do. Yes, we’re talking love here. Or what seemed to be love. What was actually my fear of being alone. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my own company or even just want to be alone at times. But I don’t want to ask for a single ticket or a table for one for the rest of my life. I want to look forward to folding into someone’s arms at the end of the evening and listening to his heart and the rhythm of our breathing coming into its own song. Yes, I’m a romantic, a curse it seems right now. Deep down I believe we are meant to have a partner in life (evidently not for life). Someone to wander the path with, to experience the ups and the way downs. A companion to listen and hug when needed. And to celebrate and encourage when warranted. I just don’t know who that person is. Yet.