The Good Girl Gone Blog

To my dearest readers,

I've been holding out on you. I admit I've been selfish, kept something to myself for close to two months. Though I hinted of its existence here, you'd have to either know me very well, or be at least an ammeter detective to figure it out.

So here goes:

I've been seeing someone and he's really quite amazing. It started out as another jdate. I had a nasty cold around our first date, but I spent two days staying home and eating chicken soup so I could meet him in person. We met at a fancy French restaurant and got to know each other over a bottle of wine. He was tall and blonde, intelligent, caring and easy to talk to.

The more he shared with me, the more I reveled in our similarities: 13 years of Jewish day school, divorced parents, a need to travel and see the world. It was like I'd finally met that one person who truly understood me. I know that's a hugely sweeping statement, but I think shared childhood experiences make for a great foundation for any kind of relationship.

I let him kiss me goodbye under my pink umbrella, forgetting about my cold and feeling horribly guilty when my cough came back after we parted ways. It's like I was so happy to be with him that I forgot to feel sick.

We continued our courtship, making time in our busy schedules to grab dinner or take a walk around the Boston Common. He met my roommates, watched chick flicks with us and even cooked me dinner. I'd make fun of the two sweaters he always wore on dates and he'd tell me he liked my new boots. We'd communicate via DMs on twitter and laugh at how nerdy we both were.

I think the best date we ever shared was a rainy day brunch together. We were both in need of caffeine and in search of a dry place with excellent food. After brunch, he came back to my apartment and endured my roommates' extremely loud chatter. I saw him fading and offered him refuge in the form of a nap. We fell asleep together for less than an hour, and only left each other so I could go to a cappella practice. It was a seemingly unexciting date, but it meant so much to me.

Though our relationship continued to grow, something dark and ominous threatened to tear it apart from the foundation: an expiration date. I leave for London in less than 6 weeks. I've tried to push that out of my mind, to live in the moment and to move forward, but that ticking clock was always there.

And now I don't know what will happen. Two nights ago, I called him after dinner, expecting to hear excitement in his voice after a week apart. Instead, I heard something else. Maybe it was dread, or nervousness. Something was wrong. When I saw the look on his face, I just knew.

And that's where we stand right now. We had a talk that lasted three hours. He voiced his concerns and I sat there listening, unable to cry. There were so many thoughts swirling through my head and I had no idea what to say or how to fix something that might be too far broken.

Maybe my life was going too well or maybe I was just too happy. All I wanted was for him to stay, to comfort me and hold me in his arms. But that wasn't what he needed. I guess I learned that when you care about someone so much, you have to give them space and let them go.

I hid my head under my covers, unable to watch the door close behind him. As soon as I heard the click of the door, I broke down. The tears I'd held back before finally surfaced.

Is it over? I don't know. Will giving him space help him figure things out? I don't know. Should I protect my heart and just move on? I don't know.

The one thing I do know: it's out of my hands.

So, as I sit here in my pajamas, hurt, confused and helpless, all I want is to help him, to make him happy, but I can't.