My modern day fairy tale lives in a big city with skyscrapers and yellow cars. He walks with confidence and makes me laugh uncontrollably.
I met him in a club in Florence, Italy. It was August. He sang karaoke with me; we did wine tastings; he showed me the best food spots; he found me the secret bakeries. He got me drunk, got me home safely, and got me breakfast in bed to cure the hangover.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him after Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany. We chugged Steins and rode the swings; we biked through Munich and accidentally dine-and-dashed. No one had ever made me feel quite that alive.
I got to know him in November when we flew to Amsterdam for the weekend. We were together for 3 days straight. We stayed at a broken hostel in which our entire private room was no larger than the bed. We ate together, slept together, walked together, toured Anne Frank‘s house together, toured coffee shops together, and broke through a foreign language together.
I said goodbye to him in New York City, January of this year. He left for four months and pledged to keep in touch. I prayed he would.
He did. I fell in love with him from 4,500 miles away on my computer screen. He was a crutch for my hard days; I was a shoulder through his.
Come May, I let him into my world in North Carolina. He showed up with a wine bottle from San Gimignano, shook my brother’s hand, held my puppy in his arms, and hugged my mother.
My modern day fairy tale waited for me. And I waited for him. And now my modern day fairy tale and I will live together for three months amongst the skyscrapers and yellow cars.