I made the mistake of sending a text message to my ex boyfriend. It wasn't a sob story, I just wanted him to know I was thinking of him and that it was strange, after all this time.
I do think about the Jew quite a bit unfortunately. On days where I am feeling nostalgic, or when I am hating on my current life situation (sadly too frequent) I day dream about him and perch him up on his pedestal.
This is my mind playing tricks on me.
The Golden Jew and I had a love affair in London, that stretched across to Italy, over the oceans to Australia, then ended.
It took me a year to warm to him. When I finally did I fell hard.
Not since the Fuckwit had I felt a fusion like this. It was heady. We were a powerful combination. Both ambitious, both competitive, both intellectual, both sensual, both fragile underneath.
He was quick witted, pragmatic, energetic and passionate. Tall, gangly, olive arabian skin, deep green eyes with brown specs. I fell in love in those eyes.
And he was an intense British Iraqi Jew.
I blame the positioning of continents and our lineage on our separation, but I know it was more than that. It was an obstacle course of religion, race, red tape and reality.
Love is simple. The world is not.
I know he would love it that I'm writing about him and that I still ponder our affair; his ego is almost as big as mine. Would I revisit that chapter? In a heart beat.
But there were flaws. My mind harvests the good memories and feelings from the whole field of our time together and sneakily neglects to acknowledge the weedy reality for what it was.
In the light of day he was a greedy, hardcore, egomaniacal asshole, doing dodgy ass deals, fickle and self obsessed.
In many ways I am grateful for having escaped yet another epic romance disaster. But I do miss those quiet times we shared together, just the Jew and me. Incredibly tender moments where our souls spoke to one another.
It seems so far away now; did it even happen?