One person said one sentence about me and it changed everything

In two thousand and thirteen a woman I barely knew told somebody that I was sound and had never given her a moment's trouble. That sentence got me a conversation that became seven years of my life. Nothing I wrote, nothing I said and nothing I did in a room got me anywhere near as far as one person's offhand endorsement.

Forty six, Didsbury, twelve years in this. The seven year dynamic ended in twenty twenty two when she remarried and moved to Ireland, and we still exchange letters at Christmas.

I am writing this partly as advice and partly as an advertisement. The advice is that the men here who complain that nothing works are usually correct that letters do not work, and wrong about what does. What works is behaving well over years in front of people who talk to each other.

The advertisement is that I would like a second long arrangement. Household duties, structure that holds across ordinary weeks, and a woman who is particular about how things are done.

Three people would speak for me now, which took a decade to be true and is the only genuine credential I have.

What I am not looking for is anything quick, anything at a distance, or anything with a scene attached. And I would rather not be somebody's first attempt, because at forty six I would like to be with somebody who already knows what she wants a Wednesday to look like.