Long Distance Love

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It’s getting close to the day, all those years ago, that my now husband and I met. It was April 20, 2007. We were both at Panera Bread – about an hour from where we each called home. We immediately hit it off and the first six or so months of our relationship were overshadowed by the struggles and frustrations of living almost two hours apart.

I was staying with my parents after having realized that there really wasn’t much of a point in working two jobs to live in a huge, 2-bedroom apartment by myself. I had just gotten out of a several year relationship and I wasn’t looking. I really wasn’t interested in doing that again quite so soon. Besides, I had a good job and friends and, at least at that point, that’s what was important to me.

He was living on his own in a house that he had bought for himself and working almost constantly. At that point, we were both still living in our hometowns. He was cute and funny, but I still told him over and over again that he didn’t stand a chance. He should just give it up because I wasn’t going anywhere. I was perfectly content right where I was at.

That didn’t last long. (Story Continued On The Next Page)

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