Dating History

Big little lies, red flags, and my current desperation era.

A man that I dated died and I didn’t know about it.

He was about 20 years older than me and passed away after a very quick, aggressive battle with cancer. He wasn’t sick when I met him in 2018. He was not sick when I met him. I have to remind myself of that because while he was a nice guy, he was not a good guy. He was reckless and urgent and unfiltered and all the things I would personally be if I knew I was literally running out of time. He was a pervert and a fetishist, and, in hindsight, was in the midst of that infamous mid-life crisis that turns any man in Los Angeles with an ounce of industry or creative power into an insufferable predator.

The version of him I encountered was him at his healthiest. 🥴.

We talked for a couple weeks and went on a few dates, but that was it. I didn’t like the way he looked at me. I didn’t like having to balance flirting with boundaries.

I only use Facebook when I’m knee deep in very important research, but a few days ago his name popped up in my ‘People You May Know.” I hadn’t thought about him at all in five years. The name rang a bell, but the photo didn’t quite match the face that went with it.

So, I googled him.

An obituary.

I didn’t know that he died. And after reading his obituary, I realized I didn’t know anything about him at all.