Confessions to my Therapist: A Real Conversation

“I did something stupid. Again.”

“Tell me.”

“I spent the weekend, well, twenty-four hours, with this man.”


“At first, it was a way to get over that last douchebag.”

“So, it didn’t stay that way?”

“No. It was…different.”

“How so?”

“It was more. It was like I suddenly knew how it should have been all along. To have someone to talk to, who believes in me, who listens, who can understand what I’m saying and who I am.”

“So it was more than physical.”

“That’s the worst part about it. It’s both. I’ve only felt both once before and I have an entire blog dedicated to that man.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. You know, stories paint these pictures for us. Movies, songs, you know?”


“So, they show us the way out, but fiction isn’t reality, right?”


“So why does it feel like I’m in a fucking Chopin novel? And I know this is true.”

“How so?”

“The day I left, I could smell him on my skin, taste him on my mouth. I wanted to tell him, to exclaim how much it made me miss the touch of his hand.”

“And did you?”

“No. I thought he’d think I was crazy, stupid, dramatic, but then, the next day, he sent me a short message. Five words.”


“‘I can still smell you.'”

“Oh, god! Really?”

“Yes. Like a fucking movie, he pulled the words from my lips and delivered them to me. He turned us into a tragic romance, a doomed pairing. He made me love him, just maybe, in that moment, and I’m not sure what to do.”


In case you were wondering, she didn’t give me an answer. I still don’t know what to make of all these feelings.


2 thoughts on “Confessions to my Therapist: A Real Conversation

  1. I’m glad for you. I don’t know what you can or should do with those feelings, but at least now you know you can have them for more than just the other guy (Johnny?). That’s got to be a good thing.

    Also, I think it’s cool that he wrote, and what he wrote 🙂

    (have no idea about the rest of your situation so won’t address it)

    Liked by 1 person

    • It’s weird to read his name in your comment. I guess I never realized how much my readers follow my story, like the whole story. I’m not sure about the rest of it either, but he gave me words. No one gives me words, so maybe that’s why the feelings won’t dissipate.


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