Most of my relationship origin stories involve a lengthy prologue because I’d usually known him a while in some context or another, not like kids today, I guess. It’s weird to have your normal way of life be considered old-fashioned, and I hope this is a broader aging Elder Millennial wistful sentiment and not just myself being uniquely and pathetically nostalgic and having a hard time with how quickly time passes and the new lines on my face.
I talked about visiting Chris in New York and how he broke up with me there on the day before Valentine’s Day in an earlier essay that I now find embarrassing and terribly written, and in another where I talked about him getting into a fight with his drunk roommate.
I want to talk about Chris again now because our dynamic was unlike any I’d really experienced before that. The intensity of my relationship with Chris stuck with me and sucked me back in over and over after every breakup despite the sometimes baffling toxicity of our behavior toward one another.
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