I’m seeing someone new. He’s sweet, kind, affectionate. He’s cooked for me, confided in me, asked to see me every day.
I’m cautious. Nervous.
I’m trying to go at my own pace, even though it means I have to tell him I can’t see him every day, and it feels awkward. We’ve only had a few dates, and while I am enjoying him, it also is kind of scary. My heart is healing, but it’s still tender, like a bruise in the last stages of yellow and pale green.
I’m naming him Benjamin. It’a nod to his age, which is younger then mine, enough so that I get to feel like Mrs. Robinson from The Graduate. Which bothers me less than I thought it would, as I get to know him and the kind of person he is.
He says he doesn’t identify as poly, though he has had positive experiences with non-monogamy, and is fully aware that I am. He is not currently partnered or involved with anyone else. I met him last year when I was involved with caring for someone in his family, and I ran into him again recently and he immediately told me he had been drawn to me then, but the timing wasn’t right.
It’s sweet. I’m exploring.