The man who sings like Elvis

Ghosting, un-ghosting, dating sober, ghosting.

I.

He emerges from the door with this serious, unsure-of-himself facial expression but I smile at him and he grins right back. The same disheveled long hair, but no beard this time. I was nervous but something about him puts me at ease. It’s a sort of recognition.

We hadn’t seen each other for more than a year.

(Dear readers, this one is too personal to be out in the open. I’m putting it under “Dating files” a series for paid subscribers about the wild wild west of dating. By your favorite cat obsessed, hyper independent (in recovery), two-time cancer survivor, 40 yo woman. Girl. Woman. ✌️)