Talking about Past Lovers

I was eager to get out from him. The train started to thrum and people were saying their last goodbyes, giving their last kisses. He kept looking at me, searching for my lips and my hips. I leaned back, smiled uneasily and said: “I got to go. Look, it is what it is. Life is what it is”.

My luggage was heavy. Half my life was in it. Struggling to carry it, I stepped into the wagon clumsily. I found a small compartment to put it in and slumped down into my designated seat. I never looked back. I never peeked through the window.

Michael and I, it was not a complicated story. I met him in a bar and we stroke up a conversation easily. It was a wet, cold night and I was feeling particularly chatty and straightforward with strangers. It was out of character. I wasn’t generally warm with people, even less flirtatious. But I was in a good, teasing mood. He liked it apparently and I liked that he liked it. He was quick-witted. He got back at me as fast as I taunted him. Some beers later, some hand strokes and challenging glances later, phone numbers were exchanged.

I think that he called me right away the same week. He wasn’t the playing-games kind of man. But he was a busy man. He was preparing a PhD, he worked and was committed in some volunteer organisation. Yes, he was that perfect. Coupled with the height, dark-hair and somewhat mysterious attitude, I completely understand how I fell for him. Kind of.

We drank another night together. Still throwing banter at each other. Still showing off. Playing at who would know something more or better. When I thought my stories were historically terribly accurate, he would add incredible details to them. When he thought to teach me something about science, I just answered with a nuanced but sound theory. It was all fun really. I started to really like him.

But I’m still not an easy girl. And he is not an easy boy.

On the third date, he talked about his former girlfriend. He told me she was more or less the same type than me. That is the kind of information that usually starts to scare me away. But I liked him. I really did. I didn’t realise that he was staring at me the way he certainly did his ex-lover back at the beginning of their story. I was just very much entertained by him, and I appreciated that we could share so much.

It was that night of course. Because when you begin to talk about past lovers, and your dreams about love, kissing is the next step. And then, sleeping together.

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