• I’ve never had such a passionate love affair with someone’s voice before. His voice is the main way I experience him – phone dates, phone giggles, phone sex – and it’s one of my favorite things about him. I fell in love with him via his voice, first and foremost. It’s the tether that connects us, more than touch or sight, and it’s often enough.
• I get butterflies each and every time I see him, which I gather is a feat, a year and a half in. Our chemistry has never faded into stasis; it doesn’t get a chance to. I am still nervous whenever I wait for him at the airport; my heart still pounds when I drag my suitcase toward a hotel where I know he will be. All my life I have been afraid of what happens to love once the sparkle scrapes off, but we are still sparkly, still strong.
• I love New York and he loves Toronto. It’s clear how poly we both are: we can love more than one city at once. My own apartment is home, but so is anywhere he’s holding me. Home is movable, mutable. Portable.
• I was once accused, by a probably-asexual ex, of being too sex-focused. (I mean, he was the one who knowingly chose to date a sex blogger, but okay.) This proclamation hit me where it hurt, and made me worry forevermore that I was too much of a horndog to sustain any meaningful connections. But here I am, deeply loved by someone whose genitals I haven’t been within 500 miles of in weeks. Sex is important to me, but it isn’t everything. I’ve always known that, and now I know it even more.