Open To Maybe

I've met a self-proclaimed, practical romantic.

There’s talk of travel, dancing, homemade Jamaican chicken soup to help ease my sickness, and even the desire to spend New Year’s Eve with me.

He’s open with words, wants, needs, hopes, and dreams.

And there is talk of boundaries, communication, transparency, thoughtfulness and care, quality time together, and integrity.

All with a British accent.

And honestly, I’m not quite sure how to process it.

It’s so different from what I’ve known.

It feels unfamiliar in my body.

A little uncomfortable.

Not unsafe—just new.

I’m not running away.

I’m not ghosting, blocking, or shutting down.

I’m noticing.

I’m staying present and observing what this feels like now, after everything. I’m not attaching to fantasy. I’m watching for consistency over time—in words, actions, character, and ease. And yes, fun.

I am hesitant. Rightfully so.

I was swept off my feet once before—by promises of blue skies, happily ever after, and heart to heart connection—that ended up my worst lived nightmare.

And still, I’m open to maybe.

If we dance and laugh and travel and experience some life together—even if it’s not forever—I would call that a win.