I’m not sure whether to run and hide under something or to do a dance of joy.

Tomorrow at this time I’m going to see him for the first time in three years. Three years!

It was one of those college relationships. I was the bright-eyed freshman and he was the sarcastic senior. It was love at first sight in the truest, purist sense. We shared an unmistakable lust for life. We climbed on things, bounced everywhere we went, wrestled in the grass, and showed off our superior tumbling skills whenever we could. Neither of us has ever found another match in energy, I’m fairly sure none exists. We were both nerdy about most of the same things, and it was stars and music, albeit the star Vega,and Danny Elfman music.

When he graduated every fiber in my body screamed to beg him to stay, but I wouldn’t let myself. His job prospects were much better out west. So I told him he could go – that we would work it out. I meant that.

…and we did, for 2 years anyway. But then the distance got to us. I broke up with him, but he might as well have broken up with me, it’s not actually important. What IS important is we decided to give each other space, and time. Kind of a “Let’s date other people and then see if we still want to get married and have 2.5 kids and a dog and 2 cats and pull in a bunch of money for the pool and the house and the kids will need money for college and we’ll love each other forever and ever and ever” thing. Stories like this always end up with the people back together, any way… right?

One cheating, slut-ass bitch of a fiancée later, he’s coming to visit me... with his brand-new girlfriend. I haven’t seen him in three years, but I still love him. Not in a “kill the girlfriend to get him back” way, but in an uncomfortable, things were never really resolved way. I’m looking forward to seeing him, because technically we’re “friends

…but the promises keep popping up in my head.

Oh, God. Only 24 hours