This past weekend, I had my first night out post end of a relationship. The relationship ended weeks ago but I wasn’t in the frame of mind to party or be exceedingly social. Don’t worry, I didn’t hole myself into my flat, I spent a fair amount of time with my family or one-on-one time with close friends.

At first I was in denial.
Followed by sad.
Then I got irritated.

And recently? I decided to be happy.

I grabbed my two Seattle partner’s in crime and told them I needed to go out. We started in the late evening and rotated between straight and gay bars to ultimately end up dancing.

It was everything I could have wished for …
I was with friends…
I was casually cute and with curled hair…
I was feeling confident in who I was.

We starting dancing and within 30 mins I was alone. One friend went home and the other had connected with a cute boy I introduced her to (“Have you met my friend…”) and was off with him.

There I was…
In the middle of the dance floor.

So I danced.

I danced past midnight.
I danced until nearly 1am.
And then I called him. Baby steps.

But at least I danced.

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