Today marks an anniversary of sorts. Kind of.

On this day, nineteen years ago, I was writing about the demise of a three-ish year relationship in the spring and my recovery. I recalled my girl, 26, had left me for an older man, 53.

And, out of curiosity, I had to sit and do the math. Because I didn’t note their ages. At the time, I was 33.

I’m reading this piece and marveling at how... offended... I was at this. Of course, I was the lover betrayed.

Then, I find this li’l nugget:

This morning, i had the horrible thought that she is setting me up to become her "ideal" , single, fifty-something who has to seduce twenty-somethings to get his rocks off... because at this moment, it feels like i will never find anyone like her.

Incredible.

Here we are. Today. I am fifty-two. My current girl is twenty-seven. I adore her and cannot imagine life without her and... “it feels like I will never find anyone like her.”

Interesting.

What i'm listening to:

Bad Dreams
Teddy Swims
Bad Dreams