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Even though I can’t, or rather, can’t in good conscience, stay in Paris, I do wish I could stay and see how things go with my dude here.

He’s not quite what I pictured, I never thought I would meet someone special here.  I thought I needed an American, a very good English speaker at the least, and probably someone of the same general culture and religious background, to be understood.

I thought I needed somebody who read all my opinionated Facebook posts and tweetings and knew everything about me and still loved me.  I didn’t think someone who sometimes still feels like a stranger, like a huge mystery, like I don’t even know and can’t fully imagine certain parts of his life, could make me want to stay somewhere.

I thought love was about dreams coming true. I thought love was about finding a person who fit all the “musts” and the lists. I thought love was about things working out the way you want them to, tension free, possibility of heartache not withstanding.

I thought love dove, love soared, love skated, love climbed. I didn’t think love glided easily, constantly, like the smallest of drops filling a bucket. I didn’t think love looked like the past at all, I didn’t realize love and happiness and stability could be monotonous, and depending on one’s point of view, boring.

I didn’t think being a nice person was the basis for it, I thought i was about having “it,” that chemistry, that kindred spirit thing. I didn’t think, as an adult, I would feel like a child again. I didn’t think I would fall in love (again) with someone with such a childlike spirit.

And I didn’t think falling in love was something that waited, that could grow, that could bear the thought of separation and repose.  I thought it was all or nothing, or a flash in the pan.  I thought love was about decisions, planning, and priorities. I didn’t realize it was watching a flower grow, tending it. I was so focused on finding the right seed, I neglected to look for someone with enough sunshine in their soul.

So yes, sometimes, I love him. Little by little, drip by drop. It depends on what love is, I guess you could say. But I like him, and I don’t really know why. He’s nice, I like to be with him.