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I met a man online who lived on the other side of the country.We were technologically inseparable for two months before I flew out to spend a week exclusively in his company.It wasn’t love at first Tweet, but the attraction our conversations and Google searching generated caught me off guard. Here’s a word you’ll never read about in the more restrained online love stories – masturbation. Later that day, I woke up to a text message from him.I didn’t think it would go any further than an unrequited crush. I mean, how else are two people – separated by thousands of miles but who nevertheless share immeasurable bursts of affection and passion – supposed to connect with each other? “I love the sounds you make,” he wrote, and he wasn’t talking about my Martha Generic impersonation.He told me things, too: his insecurities, his anxieties, stories about his failed marriage and his ex-girlfriends and the friends he suspected didn’t really have his best interests at heart (he was right about them).We let each other in and so much of everything inside us came gushing out.I told him the song was and wasn’t about us, save a few careful lines.

We talked all of the time, it seemed, through every medium we could get our hands on: instant messages, text messages, Facebook, Twitter, Skype, cell phone calls, work phone calls.We even had a song – Billie Holiday’s “Easy to Love.” It didn’t matter that we were nowhere near ready to use the loaded L-word.Later in August, I spent the majority of a free Death Cab for Cutie concert sending him text messages coded with meaning.But there was never any potential lover waiting for me on the other side of those flights.After landing, my carry-on suitcase seemed to find every crack in the sidewalk as I raced to find him. He was already waiting for me in Baggage Claim, a bouquet of purple flowers in his outstretched hands.

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