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Last weekend I went to London Pride, and there ended up spending a large portion of the day in the arms of a handsome, very bearded gent.

As we held each other and indulged in some kissing, he leaned down to me and whispered “I don’t know if this is going anywhere, but you’re very cute.”

After a small batch of disappointment – I quite liked him – I got to thinking:

Maybe there’s nothing wrong with a one day only relationship.

For the day we held hands, held each other, and people said what a lovely couple we made. I could have felt angry or betrayed, but somehow I just seemed to take it in my stride. There is just something so wonderful about being held sometimes, about having that public intimacy with someone, that it all just felt right.

The fact that I knew it wasn’t going to last didn’t really bother me, as much as I liked him.

The weirdest thing was, on my way in I wanted this to happen. I wanted to have my “Pride Love” in the form of a big, bearded beauty. I saw it cearly in my minds’ eye, and somehow it manifested.

Maybe that means something, and maybe it doesn’t.

Either way, I felt two kinds of Pride that day.

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