A blog about heartbreak.

Less few days ago, I wrote on this very blog (and I quote) “I am no longer interested in seeing The Climber”

…And 48 hours later, I found myself leaving his apartment at 1 a.m. 

To be fair, we met for a drink so I could get my ring and bracelet back from him. I left it at his place on our third date and he forgot to bring it to our last one. So when he texted me asking if I wanted to meet up for a drink, I accepted. I figured we’d have a beer, catch up, and I’d go home with my pretty emerald ring. 

The only shortcoming of this plan was I forgot how goddamn handsome he is. And he is pretty charming, if you, like me, consider a two-hour conversation about bikes and Meriweather Post Pavilion as foreplay.

And so, after my second malty microbrew, when he said “This is going to sound conniving but I forgot your ring at my apartment. So…do you want to go back to my place?”

I did. Maybe I was not interested in dating him, but I was interested in kissing his ridiculously handsome face. I didn’t go back to his place because I was lonely or trying to prove anything to anyone and so I thought I was making a fine lady adult decision.

Yet the next day, I woke up feeling kinda yuck about it. And I think I figured out why.

Fuck guys, I think I like Em. Like, I like-like him.

Dammmmmit. This wasn’t part of the plan.