Separation is (relatively) friendly, this quality marks the relationship. My ex and I are (and still are) good friends, but we were not good partners, and if we both were willing to work on it, it was time to move on.
There are many components to the decision, but none are primary. Desire is something I have always been accustomed to: I have a nice smile and a sense of humor, and (imo) a magnificent cleavage. I have never been a girly girl, usually not wearing makeup, but I know how to laugh in that deeply dirty way in bed, and I am just as good there as I am here. So, for over a decade, not wanting to be considered attractive is strange, and it has had a profound impact on my self-image. Honestly, it still does.
I am a being who loves to touch and be touched, both kindly and sexually. The pandemic has left me lacking in affection, making me confront whether I want to spend the rest of my days without it. Therefore, I posed the question of whether to engage in things or to move on, ultimately choosing the latter. It was a tough choice. It was a good choice. I looked back at my diary entries from previous years, filled with anger, sadness, and painful despair. Nowadays, I find myself singing as I move around the house and through life, situations that are not just a part of my past but ones I have chosen for myself.
A year later, at the time of the divorce finals, I began to consider my love life. When I returned to the Midwest and tried to reconnect with old friends, my experiences were terrible. Someone misunderstood my romantic interest in him in a way that made him feel he couldn't see me at all, but was just eager to fill the woman-shaped hole in his life. This really cooled my concept of male partners, as I did not want someone looking for a nurse, housekeeper, or any other type of caretaker. I want someone who wants me. I did not particularly hope for...