There was a man whose name was Dan

Wednesday, Apr 26: I have chosen to rehabilitate this post that I deleted yesterday, after having first put it up two days ago. If you're a certain Dan, though I know you're most probably not, please first read the post above entitled "you have to do what's right". Dan: I know you will understand why I've put this up once again. The only way to begin a new life is to leave the old one behind, just like you and I are doing at this point in our lives. As if I haven't said it enough, I want you to know that I meant every word I said to you today. I'm looking forward to a life full of joy with you as a great friend.

I feel it's finally time that I gave Ned his real name back. Ever since I began writing about him on this blog, from the recount of the night we first met, the attraction, the connection, the promises, the excitement and insecurity I felt, to the second time, the words that came out wrong, my thoughts, my feelings, the third time and the realization, I've been hiding him behind a false name.

It wasn't entirely a fabrication, the name. It's uncanny but I seem to be able to recall vividly every small detail of all that happened between us, how it was when we exchanged phone numbers in his black truck before we parted the second day those months ago. I remember him playing around with the three letters in his name, NAD, NAD, NAD, and so the name, it never went away.

I don't think I have ever been so attracted to a guy at first sight, or felt so strongly that, with him, I'll live happily ever after. Oddly, it didn't take very long for me to find out. His eyes, his smile, his voice, the way he behaved. I could see the other Dan beneath the witty, funny guy on the exterior, the boy and the man with interests and dreams that resonated with mine. Together we spoke six languages and had a love for culture and travel. His dream was to apply his language skills in his career, mine was to eventually put aside the engineering work I'm doing, go back to studying more languages and to one day work in a non-profit organization.

He'd been here seven years. Too long, he kept saying. I knew nothing could hold him back, 25, eager to leave this depressing state of Indiana, to explore the world, to start a new life. Yet I knew, when we were talking about all the places in the world, when he asked me when we were going to visit the place I grew up, I said I'd take him there someday, he asked me really, and I said yes, I meant it and for that second he knew I meant it. I knew, when he told me he'd been to England, Ireland, France, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Greece and Turkey, and I asked him if he'd show me all these places, he said yes, I asked really, and he nodded, I knew for that second, he really meant it and he knew I knew.

And so I knew that when he asked me if we wanted to hang out again soon, he really meant it for that second when he asked. But we both knew that he was leaving, beginning a new life far away, and when it comes my turn to leave, I wouldn't know where my job would take me. We both wanted it, but didn't know how much each other wanted it, couldn't tell each other how much we wanted it, and were afraid to want it. I'm happy, I now know it was possible between us, just that knowledge is enough for me to go on -- I'm so happy that there are tears in my eyes right now.

I don't know if I really want him to call. For the last two days, I've been checking my phone so often I've lost count of the number of times I've looked away in disappointment. I tell myself, whatever he does, if he's happy, I'm happy. I promise him in my heart, I wouldn't make things difficult for him when he leaves. I remind myself, that there's no other time than now to be selfless with one's feelings. But when it's time for him to finally leave, I don't know if I would really be able to handle it. He belongs elsewhere, in a big city far away, to somebody else out there.

Today, I couldn't hold myself back from driving by his place on my way home. He lives in the upstairs of a house on a cheerless street, which somehow looked fine to me just a few days ago. The window to the living room was open, and his dog was out on the low roof across the front of the house, laying there languid with her head resting quietly on the tiles, a beautiful border collie with long, soft, black and white fur. I suddenly remember that he and I both love dogs, and that we were talking about taking her out canoeing and swimming in the river. As I went by, there was a loud rumble from a vehicle behind me, and she turned her head immediately to look, all of a sudden coming alive. I wondered then, does she wait faithfully for her master every day at this time of the evening, out on the roof just wishing for him to return, coming alive at the rumble of a truck?

I've never been one to believe in astrology until he mentioned he was a Gemini. Gemini the twins, the sign of the storyteller, the communicator. Talented in speech, bright, witty, charming, and spontaneous, the artist, the writer, the interpreter. And I was a Libra. Libra the scales, the sign of the diplomat and the ditherer. Romantic, idealistic, refined, easy-going, charming and in love with love. Gemini the twins, of dual personalities, restless, fickle. Libra the scales, changeable, dreamy, frivolous. Do you know what they say in the books about the relationship between a Gemini and a Libra? Sublime.