All the fights that seem big, all the arguments over respect and tone of voice, of power struggles, and money, all kind of disappear when you remember a past lived in bars with pick up lines and loud music. You remember all the men who’ve hit on you. All the times you’ve relinquished your number, all the times you danced when you felt like sitting down, all the times you got another round and shrugged the next day. There’s so much magic in a night, expectation mingled with hope, that in the end can feel like a waste of time. So when you remember everything it took, all the long ways of slow moves, it makes you realize that all the turmoil of now is nothing compared to what you lived when you were single, circling the bar, singing along with the words, going along with the life, wishing secretly you could leave and walk away without any of it, and somehow, with it all. And I realize, I really did just that. Even though he’s a pain in the ass, even though he gives me a hard time, at the end of the day, he’s the guy whose hand I want to hold and pull across a dance floor. He’s the one I want to break the sweat for, the one I want to buy me the drink, the one I want. That’s all.