In those days, at Swarthmore in May, we spent most of our time together in her apartment. She would teach me about astrology, I would eat her wonderful cooking, and we would talk for hours.
Throughout our relationship, she was always baking, preparing food. When we first started hanging out, she was constantly chopping. A lot of cucumbers, carrots. She said it was theraputic. Baking too, every day was a new loaf of ginger bread, banana muffins, corn cake, quiche, anything. She didn't plan it or use a recipie. It was an instinctive ritual. I was glad to enjoy the fruits of her labour.
In the first week, I remember going back to my room, after pining over her and deciding against visiting her, for fear of fostering obsession. I felt sad, climbed into bed and went to sleep. I was woken up when she knocked on my door, came in, and climbed into bed with me.
The longer we went out, the less we had sex.
As the relationship matured, things soured.
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