THE YEAR IN REVIEW
Summer has finally arrived here in Seattle. It’s been hot. Sunny. Beautiful.

And the it all reminds me of last summer, when I the world as I knew it cracked open, and I wallowed in darkness even as the sun stayed out until 10 pm and the rest of the world came out to play.

It reminds me of how, just as Seattle became welcoming and warm, the relationship I believed in so blindly exposed itself for what it was – rotten at its core.

As everyone emerged from their winter sleep, dazed and smiling, I moved into an empty basement and wept and wept.

I didn’t hike; I didn’t bicycle; I didn’t do things I love to do so much in summer. Instead I fought to contain my grief.

In my windowless office, I stared at a computer screen and tried to do my new job. But the words danced and blurred in front of my eyes, finally disappearing until I gave in and sobbed.

As the long days shortened and white hot August turned to more gentle September, I began to emerge from my cave of sadness. I went to the mountains, and let the sight of glaciers and wildflowers wash over me.

I stopped crying every day. By the time the trees turned red and gold, I’d started dating again, and sometimes didn’t cry for weeks at a time.

But the betrayal was still there, even when winter came and I wore layers of sweaters to cover it up. It hurt, especially when I had to see him in halls. Or with his new girlfriend, who just happened to be my manager.

For a while there, when snow blanketed the mountains, I thought I’d found someone, and that someone kept me warm and forgetful at night until it turned out I’d just found someone for just a little while.

When the tulips started to bloom, I thought I’d found someone else. And then someone else. And someone else yet again. And though the hurt felt like it was healing, it became clear that I was afraid – very afraid – of being alone.

So, like a butterfly, I was flitting from boy to boy looking for something I was never going to find. At least, not the way I was going about looking for it.

So I rode a rollercoaster all through the rainy spring, which finally dumped me here. Again.

Summer.

Things are the same as they were last summer, yet very different.

It’s still hot as hell in my top-floor apartment. I’m still restless and a little sad. I’m still single. I still have to listen to my neighbors having sex as I lie alone in bed.

But I’m out in this summer. Hiking and biking and climbing. Not crying. And I’m meeting people. The butterfly wings are beating but not quite as desperately as before.

This summer, I’m 35 years old. My life is going how I want it to go. Except I want someone to love.

But it’s coming again, I can feel it. All I have to do now is wait and let it fly in through my open window one of these hot nights, when it will wrap me in its cool, soothing arms.

If not, well, there better be some good freakin' s*x flying through that window. And I mean SOON.