I moved to Boston in August of 2008. I had exactly two months here, living the single life, before I was swept off my feet by a man with a beautiful story and even more beautiful blue eyes. We had a blissful year together before it was revealed to me that he was an emotionally constipated, oppressed, sterile man-child with a tenacity for getting drunk at bars with women 15 years his junior. Also, he might have been gay.
He broke my heart on a rainy afternoon in March. I gave myself exactly five days to sob, despair, wail, call my mom every hour on the hour, eat waffles, bitch to my therapist, journal, hug teddy bears, blow snot onto my clothes, and sleep like a dead thing.
Then, I did my damned best to move on.
This is a story of the men. The men that came after. The men I've adored. The men I've bested. The men I've destroyed.
