He lives in Nottingham, England, and I live in Chicago, U.S.A
We spoke for the first time back in September of 2013 because he decided to be a cute little anon and inbox me some kind words, but it wasn’t until February of 2014, after not talking for 5 months and both changing our URLs that I stumbled across his photo and built up the courage to tell him he was the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.
In June he came and stayed with my family and I for 5 weeks, and I’ll be doing the same in December when I go to stay with his family for 6 weeks.
Tomorrow is our 6 month anniversary and I couldn’t be happier. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t spoken to him. We facetime for no less than 2 hours a day, and even when we’re not together we’re thinking of each other.
I spent my teen years crying into my mother’s arms that no one would ever love me, that boys only like skinny girls, or girls who didn’t have big noses or kinky hair. I made myself sick convincing myself that girls who looked like me didn’t deserve love. We weren’t important people, simply sidekicks to the pretty girls in the movies, who are forever deemed to remain on the sidelines and observe.
I am a feminist, and I know very well that I am an independent woman who doesn’t need a man, but I am the first to admit that I want one. And I am the first to admit that I am lucky enough to have one. I have no shame in admitting that I need him, and that as much as I know that I can be independent, I want a partner to wade through the murky waters of this life with.