It's funny how things turn out. You are the only man I have met in twelve years of being single that I could actually see myself being with. And I can't quite explain that except to say that the quiet was comfortable with you. I am an avowed sapiosexual and proudly admit I was immediately attracted to your brain. You're smart and funny and thoughtful. You paid attention through our weeks of electronic communications and came prepared for our first in-the-flesh meeting knowing that I love a great foot massage and what I enjoy for food and drink. Though I would never have picked you out of a crowded room as someone I wanted to get to know, some things are inevitable. As that crowded room became less crowded, we would have been the last two sitting together laughing and engaging in verbal repartee while the waitstaff yawned and leaned on the bar waiting for us to take the hint to leave. So I've been sad for a while. The hardest thing to let go of, it turns out, and yes, this is the funny part, was the idea of you. The hope that despite the odds that you and I would become a we. Once I did let go, it was easy. Freeing and such a relief. The first time I broke things off with you it didn't feel finished. Which is probably why I took up with you again. Now it does feel finished. Nothing really changed, the same things that distanced us from each other the first time around cropped up again. You fooled me once and then a second time. So, shame on me. All is fair in love and war, I suppose. But that doesn't mean that's how it ought to be.