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I hate to admit it, but I really miss Grey today. I miss the way he smelled, I miss his hands, I even miss his dad jeans.

I know he wasn’t the one for me. I know we could have never made each other happy forever. I know all of these things in the rational part of my mind but still my heart is aching for him.

Today, walking from the train, the air so cold wrapped up in my combat jacket and Burberry scarf I thought of a truly happy moment that the two of us shared. I think it was triggered by a smell. Something familiar in the air or on my clothes.

It happened this past summer. We were visiting his father’s house in the country, the one on the pond. We’d take a small boat across the pond in order to access the private beach. His father had had guests in town so Grey and I were forced to sleep in the upstairs room at that had twin beds and too much natural light.

It was a Sunday. It had been a perfect weekend. Lighthearted and easy. For once. The summer air coming off the pond was wet and warm—a relief from the hot, sticky air that steamed off the cement streets of the city sidewalk back in New York.

We’d stripped the beds so the sheets could be washed. Courtesy like this was one Grey’s specialties. It was one of the things I loved about him. It made him seem like such an adult—like such future husband/father of my children material. At this time I was already starting to become disenchanted with our year and a half (with one intermittent, two week break up) love affair. I was starting to come to terms with the fact that this wasn’t what I wanted anymore but still was not brave enough to actually face that disheartening reality.

The tiny, narrow bed had two, case-less pillows stacked up at the top of the mattress. Grey had said he wanted to take a nap, but I knew something else was going on. The beds didn’t have sheets. He pushed me down on the bed, against pillows so that I was propped sitting up. I was already breathing so heavily. In that moment I was more turned on by him then I had ever been in the course of our relationship—except for the first time we made love—when I made him wait 4 weeks to touch me. Torture, but it had its desired effect.

As usual there was no foreplay but as he pulled my yellow sundress up around my waste and made love to me on that twin bed I wasn’t uncomfortable.  In that moment I was so into him, so 100% there. And when we smoked weed in his jeep after and went for a walk hand-in-hand I was still there. I knew I wouldn’t be for long but in that moment I was completely happy, completely uncompromised.

Anyway, I remembered that time today, at the lake house, on that twin bed and I missed Grey. I know this too shall pass and I’ll move on, but here, in this moment I miss him and I long for him. In this moment I hunger to be in love again.

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