**Here’s Part 1 and Part 2 in case you missed them.**

After Blondie left for Germany, I told myself he’d never call and that I’d never see him again. Summer love, you know? Great while it lasted.

As soon as he landed, though, he made contact. We had a video-chat where he informed me he was very much alive–I’m kind of scared of airplanes. Dying vaporized in a ball of fire might be no biggie to some people, but I like to think these people are insane.

After we ended our chat, I realized I had started a long-distance relationship. A freakishly long-distance relationship, which is the most annoying kind of relationship ever. Also, different time zones are the devil.

Anyway. We spent three months doing the virtual relationship thing, until one day, he asked, “Why don’t you come visit me?”

This was three months after we’d first met, I just wanted to remind you of that.

And I said, “Let’s do this.”

My friends and family feared for my life. “You’re travelling half the world to visit a guy you barely know? He could be a psycho!”

I knew he was no psycho, but I understood where they came from. With long-distance relationships, you always have this iron curtain between the two parties, and it makes you insecure and uncomfortable and there’s NOTHING you can do about it. Basically, we were flying blind. But you know what I told myself?

And I went for it.

He greeted me at the airport with a red rose, and when I kissed those soft, yummy lips of his, all in the world was right again.

We spent two weeks together, travelling around Europe. I met his parents (which was obviously payback for making him meet my parents on our fourth date. Well played, Blondie, well played). We also visited amazing places, admired bucolic landscapes, and ate delicious food.

At the end of our trip, he said, “Being in a long-distance relationship is really hard for me.”

“Shut the front door, it’s really hard for me too,” I said. “Dude, we’re like twins.”

He laughed. “That would be disgusting. I could never do to a sister what I do to you.”

By then, I was almost certain that we had spent this wonderful vacation together as a final goodbye. I had embarked on the plane fully aware that this would be my life’s greatest adventure before it resumed being the total crapfest it had been up to that point. And I was fine with that, because our trip had been extraordinary.

The next day, Blondie prepared a full, delicious breakfast. He even put flowers on the table, and used the finest cutlery. It was beautiful and romantic, and it was the end. “Yup, this is it,” I thought.

I kissed him and thanked him for everything. “I really loved this trip,” I said. “I love you, actually.”

And then he went all Han Solo on me and said, “I know.” He took a deep breath, and his shoulders slumped. “I can’t go on with a long-distance relationship anymore.”

Sucker-punch to the gut, but I had it coming. We were both adults. Breaking up would suck, but there weren’t many choices left, and we both knew that. Life wasn’t a Disney movie. It was Game of Thrones, cruel and utterly miserable.

“But I can’t lose you either,” he added, right before he got on one knee and proposed.

The guy I had only known for four months freaking proposed. And I didn’t think twice before saying yes.

This was seven years ago and counting.

*** THE END ***

Want more romantic stuff? Well here you go.