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She was open-hearted and strange; for the unfairly short weeks we had of occupying the same time and space, it was easy, and it was good.Something that also may or may not be relevant: Eleanor was the only person I hadn’t met online, but in the thorny, verdant wilds of real life.

We complained about being lesbians who get accused way too often of straightness just because we don’t have alternative lifestyle haircuts. The rest of the evening (terribly, predictably) was overtaken by reflections upon the jerkoffs we’d once loved.Ruby from New Zealand had only one OKC profile picture, and it was of a small, distant, short-haired figure sitting in a kayak.I had no idea how I’d recognize her in a crowd unless she brought the kayak along with her.It took us an hour of wandering the hilly graveside pathways to happen upon Wilde’s lipstick-kissed tomb long after we’d stopped actively searching for it. This was not only my first date in Paris, where I was volunteering at a film festival and blowing most of my savings on fine cheeses, but also my first date with a stranger.Before Paris, I’d dated people from my classes and extracurriculars.I sipped my wine and listened to this perfectly nice, extremely boring person tell me about going to university for human resources in lilting English.


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