An Ode To The Guy That Kissed My Neck In The Club

The start of this new month has me in the mood for love. Of course the average person would assume that the love I am talking about only pertains to the connection shared between a man and woman. But I am referring to love in all forms; you know, the ones we forget exist.

I believe I have a somewhat skeptical yet healthy view of love and relationships, although this may not be accurately portrayed through my writings. But maybe I am doing a fantastic job, and how others view the pleasure and ease a single woman like myself experiences on a daily basis is their problem and not mine?

This weekend I found myself thinking about the hopeless romantic, an archetype I detest with ever fiber of my being. I despise their innocent and hopeful view of being in love; but if I can be honest I probably despise my desire to protect them from the harshness of reality even more. Then again, reality doesn’t look the same for each of us.

But tonight, through a playlist of random 90s R&B songs, I found myself reminiscing about the brief moment when I was a hopeless romantic for the night. Because falling in love for a few hours still counts as something real.

I was 18 years old at the time. I was still a virgin, but my body suffered from some earlier counts of sexual abuse from my childhood and teenage…