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The Close of Chapter 1

If I could bookend this chapter, it would start 6 months before the day we even met:

It would open with me sitting in my Brooklyn apartment back in December, very single yet very sure of myself, and typing away:

“…I prefer to be the surpriser, the provider, the planner, the “coffee-maker” as I call it. In every relationship I’ve ever found myself in (lovers, roommates, family members), I’ve always been the one to get up and get the coffee going in the morning, or in my current situation, make sure it’s ready the night before. It’s a small and trivial thing, but the day someone brings me a fresh-brewed mug of coffee that they prepared all by themselves? Well, she’ll be the one…”

The fierce independence would gradually decay and start to call itself loneliness somewhere around the beginning of May. You not yet introduced, the characters at the beginning of the climax would be bourbon and the words of a best friend 300 miles away:

This is just your soul purging. It’s getting rid of all of the bad, all of the negative things that you don’t need anymore, and making room for something great. Your next amazing adventure is about to begin. I can feel it.

The story would build and peak three weeks later. You’re singing Billy Joel to me on a downtown 2 at midnight on a Wednesday, cinnamon whiskey on your breath, substituting “Brooklyn girl” for “Uptown girl” in your adorable slurred European accent. That’s the moment the audience (myself included) would know I’d fall in love with you.

With a few lines of nervousness and excitement tossed in for fluff, this chapter would leave us with the image of our feet intertwined under your sheets, as you hand me a cappuccino you made minutes before.

We’re turning the page; onto chapter two.