I loved a guy. We would see each other anywhere from once every few months to three consecutive weekends. I was so in love with him. He was so in love with...my vagina. He once asked me to marry him, but changed his mind. He was all I could think about. Hope about. Dream about.
Literally. I dreamed about him all the time. Lovely dreams. Lovelier than reality. I wanted him. Needed him. Loved him.
Finally I realized. Finally I have had enough. I have been letting go.
And the last two nights? I have had bad dreams about him. I feel relief. I feel better.
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