Cupids Dating Blog

As you may imagine, backpacking alone across Europe can be quite lonely at times, so the moment I hopped off the train from Brussels I looked up the girl I will call Amelie on the Web and quickly found her phone number. When we met in a district in Paris called St. Germaine, I was blown away. I'm not sure what I was expecting. I guess I was a bit worried she wasn't the beautiful angel I remembered so well for all these years, but she was all that and more. The moment we found a nice, old cafe to have a pint at, it started pouring rain outside. Now, I don't know what you consider a truly romantic encounter, but sitting at a small table on the patio of a 200-year-old cafe in the heart of Paris, drinking red wine, sheltered from the buckets of rain pouring down definitely counts in my book.

The spark between us obviously didn't need any rekindling as we were holding hands and almost on top of each other as we fixated on each other's gaze, recalling old times and filling each other in on everything that was currently going on in our lives. While she was teaching primary school, I had been pursuing my writing career and we were both fascinated by where the different paths we took when we split up eventually lead us - and more importantly, how they lead us back into each other's arms.

Having no umbrella, we walked hand-in-hand in the rain and were completely soaked by the time we made it back to her apartment. There was no need to change clothes because they were soon all on the floor and we were in bed. The sexual connection between us was so intense it was like those eight years had never passed. We made love and shared amazing some times throughout the week, but by the time I had to hit the rails and head down to Grenoble, I had a horrible feeling I would never see this sexy cute girl again. When we said goodbye, she hugged me as though my arms would fall off.

Trying to be the strong, silent type, I didn't say very much. However, I spent the entire train ride writing poetry and emptying my depressive thoughts into my journal. By the time I finally got to my hostel in Grenoble, I couldn't keep it in any longer. I think I must have cried for two days straight. Alas, nothing seems to have purged those memories - but I still haven't decided if I really want to let go of them anyways.