Possible-Mate-From-Chicago left the Big Apple today. He is going back to the Windy City. And I have that after-a-weekend-long-marathon-date-feeling. It is deeper than feeling alone. I am alone all the time. I live alone. I work alone. I eat alone. Alone I understand.
This feels like my heart and head were separated and asked to sit on opposite sides of the room. I just pretty much spent 36 hours, non-stop, breaking only to sleep (in separate locations of course) with one person. And we were in a gigantic, super-sized City where no one other than us mattered. Other than talking to my parents and a few texts from Town and Country, this weekend was population two, Possible-Mate-From-Chicago and Desi Girl.
And Possible-Mate-From-Chicago and I did everything together. We ate meals, walked around, talked, rode the train, slide in and out cabs together. He learned that I am a Diet Coke and Ruffles Sour Cream and Onion Potato Chip kind of girl. I learned he likes beer. Now that he’s gone, I kind of miss him. And I regret not asking if we’d meet again.