There is a tantalizing temptation in the expectation of the reality for a fun relationship. I think I have discovered the excitement and beauty. I have been reminded of play, and flirting, and endless joy.

I remember being in a relationship, but not wanting to be. I remember being liberated from that bond and feeling nothing for another serious relationship. Everything was meaningless play with no intent for a beginning. The opposite sex could be fun, but I would have rather avoided the whole fantastic mess.

I recall having light-hearted and fun-spirited ‘dates’ but they were nothing more, and I dreaded a time where the innocent entertainment would become something more. I didn’t want to be tangled up in an endless web of heartache and confusion. I didn’t want to be sad and miserable again. Then I met him.

He showed me a world of flirtatious fun and magical simplicity. I don’t remember ever being so happy with someone for such a length of time. He’s shown me caring, and thoughtfulness; he’s shown me a splendid flutter in my heart. He makes me laugh all the time and I’m never melancholy.

I didn’t want the label ‘his’ or ‘girlfriend’ because I didn’t want to have to fathom the ‘belonging to’ of someone but oh now, what I wouldn’t give to have that title. ‘His’. I feel worth and cared for by someone my age, but who is more than just a friend. I want to spend so much time with him. I miss him when he’s gone, and I treasure our moments with each other, whether it’s just a passing kiss in the hallway, or watching a long movie together on the couch.

I feel so incredible when I’m with him. I don’t know what I would do without him. I hope that I don’t have to find out.