{"id":2151,"date":"2025-08-04T00:22:33","date_gmt":"2025-08-03T23:22:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/senza-categoria\/an-unexpected-meeting-three-lives-later\/"},"modified":"2026-04-10T01:48:36","modified_gmt":"2026-04-10T00:48:36","slug":"an-unexpected-meeting-three-lives-later","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/an-unexpected-meeting-three-lives-later\/","title":{"rendered":"An Unexpected Meeting, Three Lives Later"},"content":{"rendered":"<div style='text-align:center' class='yasr-auto-insert-visitor'><!--Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><div id='yasr_visitor_votes_f8e276d1a05a1' class='yasr-visitor-votes'><div class=\"yasr-custom-text-vv-before yasr-custom-text-vv-before-2151\">Click to rate this post!<\/div><div id='yasr-vv-second-row-container-f8e276d1a05a1'\r\n                                        class='yasr-vv-second-row-container'><div id='yasr-visitor-votes-rater-f8e276d1a05a1'\r\n                                      class='yasr-rater-stars-vv'\r\n                                      data-rater-postid='2151'\r\n                                      data-rating='0'\r\n                                      data-rater-starsize='24'\r\n                                      data-rater-readonly='false'\r\n                                      data-rater-nonce='15742a9427'\r\n                                      data-issingular='false'\r\n                                    ><\/div><div class=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container\" id=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container-f8e276d1a05a1\"><svg xmlns=\"https:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" width=\"20\" height=\"20\"\r\n                                   class=\"yasr-dashicons-visitor-stats\"\r\n                                   data-postid=\"2151\"\r\n                                   id=\"yasr-stats-dashicon-f8e276d1a05a1\">\r\n                                   <path d=\"M18 18v-16h-4v16h4zM12 18v-11h-4v11h4zM6 18v-8h-4v8h4z\"><\/path>\r\n                               <\/svg><span id=\"yasr-vv-text-container-f8e276d1a05a1\" class=\"yasr-vv-text-container\">[Total: <span id=\"yasr-vv-votes-number-container-f8e276d1a05a1\">0<\/span>  Average: <span id=\"yasr-vv-average-container-f8e276d1a05a1\">0<\/span>]<\/span><\/div><div id='yasr-vv-loader-f8e276d1a05a1' class='yasr-vv-container-loader'><\/div><\/div><div id='yasr-vv-bottom-container-f8e276d1a05a1'\r\n                              class='yasr-vv-bottom-container'\r\n                              style='display:none'><\/div><\/div><!--End Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><\/div><div class=\"wp-block-image is-style-default\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"683\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-683x1024.png\" alt=\"Little American\" class=\"wp-image-1937\" style=\"width:536px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-683x1024.png 683w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-200x300.png 200w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-768x1152.png 768w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-720x1080.png 720w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-580x870.png 580w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-320x480.png 320w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a.png 1024w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 683px) 100vw, 683px\"><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">Straight from the past.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">I see her arriving, with her blonde hair, same childlike face but with a serious air. She hints at a slight smile and comes toward me. It&#8217;s her, the last person I ever thought I&#8217;d run into again, the first I would have wanted to see. Yes, her.<br \/>The <a href=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/report\/bimba-zoccola-ecco-come-ho-impiegato-20-anni-per-trovare-amore-e-2-settimane-per-perderlo-per-sempre\/\" data-type=\"post\" data-id=\"107\">Americanina<\/a>.<br \/>The one who made me lose my mind for the first time, only to ghost me and disappear forever.   <\/p>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">She greets me, sits down across from me at the table in the pastry shop where we&#8217;d agreed to meet. I look at her, she&#8217;s practically identical: same childlike face, same blonde and super-straight hair, same body. Only her eyes are different: once her gaze was always light, a bit caught between two worlds, such that you could never tell if she was fully with you or in her own head. Now instead it&#8217;s deep, very adult, a gaze that clouds over with sadness or anger depending on what she&#8217;s talking about.   <\/p>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">I could be angry, sad, indifferent, or bummed out. But instead I&#8217;m happy. I feel strangely energetic, euphoric. I feel a pressure in my chest and a vitality I haven&#8217;t felt in a long time. For me it&#8217;s closing a chapter that remained open, maybe getting some answers. I&#8217;m also a bit embarrassed: five years have passed. Exactly: August was when I met her, August is today when I see her again. I&#8217;ve lived countless lives, I know nothing about her. &#8220;Will she remember me?&#8221; I wonder. After all, I&#8217;m just a guy she dated for a month, lightly and without too much importance.        <\/p>\n<h2>Our lives, three lives later<\/h2>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">We tell each other about our lives, the relationships we&#8217;ve had, our journeys. Here and there references and mentions emerge of the experiences we lived together, our trip to Croatia, the all-mirrors hotel in Zadar that looked like a porn set, the funny photos we took together. So she remembers, pretty much everything.<br \/>I point out that she&#8217;s identical to how I remembered her, maybe only her arms are more muscular. I tell her that before leaving I&#8217;ll touch her ass to check if it&#8217;s still firm: I haven&#8217;t found one as nice since.   <\/p>\n<div class=\"wp-block-image is-style-rounded\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large is-resized\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/media3.giphy.com\/media\/v1.Y2lkPTc5MGI3NjExY3UzZHlmdHhqaTUxMXp2MmdsbDI4NXViYWhtN3cya3RpbG9jemNrdyZlcD12MV9pbnRlcm5hbF9naWZfYnlfaWQmY3Q9Zw\/nZvxbksUffPUI\/giphy.gif\" alt=\"Image from the story of an unexpected encounter, three lifetimes later\" style=\"width:130px;height:auto\"><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">eh!<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">We gracefully touch on our wounds. We talk with the same level of confidence and intimacy as when we left, like two people who have known each other forever. She tells me about her last relationship, which lasted 4 years, where she loved with strength and great sacrifice (as usual, I don&#8217;t include details for privacy).  <br \/>The whole time, a question echoes in my mind. The same question I&#8217;ve asked myself for five years. The same question I waited to ask, until I couldn&#8217;t take it anymore:<br \/>&#8220;Why did you disappear, without any explanation?&#8221;<br \/>I tell her she&#8217;s free not to answer me, but if she decides to, she has to be honest.<br \/>Her gaze clouds over, she tells me: &#8220;I felt good with you but I met someone else, I was interested in him. I should have told you. I have an avoidant attachment style, I&#8217;m working on it with my therapist now, but back then it was easier to disappear than to be clear with you.<br \/>And also I was struggling with myself, I didn&#8217;t like the context in which we&#8217;d met.&#8221;    <\/p>\n<div class=\"wp-block-image is-style-rounded\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/media0.giphy.com\/media\/v1.Y2lkPTc5MGI3NjExeXY5ZzN6NHQwZHJ2MjljcWZ0MWs4dDE1a3hiZnRnbmQ1ZDJjdzl2MSZlcD12MV9pbnRlcm5hbF9naWZfYnlfaWQmY3Q9Zw\/t5YLMZmVxAjwA\/giphy.gif\" alt=\"Image from the story of an unexpected encounter, three lifetimes later\"><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">Well, I tried in every way to avoid this. <br \/>Mission accomplished!<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<h2>The answer I&#8217;d been waiting for for years<\/h2>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">Here finally is the answer I&#8217;d been waiting for years. What changes now that I finally have it?<br \/>Nothing.<br \/>Keep that in mind, dear friends who agonize over knowing the reasons for breakups&#8230; Nothing changes. <\/p>\n<p>Then she apologizes. With a sorry and slightly embarrassed look. This changes things a bit: the apology warms my heart a little, like a caress that soothes something that wasn&#8217;t right.  <\/p>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">I send her the blog link, with the stories that talk about her. I clarify that I&#8217;m not the same person and don&#8217;t feel the same things, that maybe I was a bit pathetic but that&#8217;s how it is. She&#8217;s very curious to read them. And I&#8217;m curious to have her opinions about them. By the way, today I find the affectionate nickname I used to call her jarring (&#8220;Bimba Zoccola&#8221;), so I&#8217;ve decided to rename her in all the stories as Americanina (she&#8217;s originally from&#8230; Quebec).    <br \/>The conversation flows lightly. We talk about women, men, relationships. She tells me she has trouble meeting new men, that the ones who approach her don&#8217;t interest her, that she likes a &#8220;hunk&#8221; she sees at work, etc. I tell her how I live today, how today I manage to express more authentically who I am, including my vulnerabilities, and how this has transformed me into a magnet (but not with her, I realize I&#8217;m telling her these things because&#8230; I don&#8217;t want to seem still interested in her).   <br \/>I suggest she install Tinder. She gets up and sits next to me, under the pretense of looking at my profile. Finally, I couldn&#8217;t stand that distance. I touch her, caress her. Much less than I would with any other woman, even one I just met: I don&#8217;t want to pressure her, make her run away again.    <\/p>\n<div class=\"wp-block-image is-style-rounded\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large is-resized\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/media4.giphy.com\/media\/v1.Y2lkPTc5MGI3NjExdnhsdDFsODM0NmFvbTFoZmVma3llNnZxb2NheTBoOGpzb3R3NXRzaiZlcD12MV9pbnRlcm5hbF9naWZfYnlfaWQmY3Q9Zw\/MeD5aQGCC2Asg94lWF\/giphy.gif\" alt=\"Image from the story of an unexpected encounter, three lifetimes later\" style=\"width:182px;height:auto\"><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">Where do you go if you don&#8217;t have Tinder?<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<h2>Coincidence or subtle flirting?<\/h2>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">Still talking about Tinder, I ask her what type of man she likes. And she basically describes me.  Coincidence or subtle flirting?<br \/>I notice she&#8217;s still down about her ex. I\u2014even though I&#8217;m finally living my single life well!\u2014haven&#8217;t totally gotten over the breakup with my long-term ex. We could console each other. So I tell her: &#8220;I&#8217;d like to see you again, spend time together.&#8221;<br \/>She looks at me and asks &#8220;With what expectations?&#8221;<br \/>I don&#8217;t want to scare her, I answer: &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, I&#8217;m living my single life well and I&#8217;m not looking for a relationship right now. I&#8217;d like to spend time with you, whatever happens happens.&#8221; The truth?      I don&#8217;t know, she always stirs up really strong emotions in me. Am I ready to fall for her with all the mess that comes with it? <br \/>She tells me &#8220;I&#8217;ll think about it.&#8221; Enigmatic, I didn&#8217;t understand what the right answer would have been for her.<br \/>Two hours have passed, pleasant ones, I decide to leave. I say goodbye affectionately, hug her and leave.  <\/p>\n<div class=\"wp-block-image is-style-rounded\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/media2.giphy.com\/media\/v1.Y2lkPTc5MGI3NjExcG1pMWF3eG1nYWo0OHZiOGZhMm5ic3o3Y3N6MGhmY3o0YmV6djB5bCZlcD12MV9pbnRlcm5hbF9naWZfYnlfaWQmY3Q9Zw\/xUA7aQZvSt3W8VNlHW\/giphy.gif\" alt=\"Image from the story of an unexpected encounter, three lifetimes later\"><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">The hug was like this.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<p class=\"has-normal-font-size\">I go home, waiting in vain for a message from her.<br \/>I write to her.<br \/>Silence.<br \/>Ha ha, but we&#8217;re used to it by now!<br \/>It was still the closing of a chapter that had remained open for too many years.<br \/>And yes, her ass was firm and soft exactly as I remembered it.<\/p>\n<div style=\"text-align:center\" class=\"yasr-auto-insert-visitor\"><!--Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><\/p>\n<div id=\"yasr_visitor_votes_618a2f637f1d9\" class=\"yasr-visitor-votes\">\n<div class=\"yasr-custom-text-vv-before yasr-custom-text-vv-before-1060\">Click to rate this post!<\/div>\n<div id=\"yasr-vv-second-row-container-618a2f637f1d9\" class=\"yasr-vv-second-row-container\">\n<div id=\"yasr-visitor-votes-rater-618a2f637f1d9\" class=\"yasr-rater-stars-vv\" data-rater-postid=\"1060\" data-rating=\"0\" data-rater-starsize=\"32\" data-rater-readonly=\"false\" data-rater-nonce=\"d5bea0c4b7\" data-issingular=\"false\"><\/div>\n<div class=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container\" id=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container-618a2f637f1d9\"><svg xmlns=\"https:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" width=\"20\" height=\"20\" class=\"yasr-dashicons-visitor-stats\" data-postid=\"1060\" id=\"yasr-stats-dashicon-618a2f637f1d9\">\n                                   <path d=\"M18 18v-16h-4v16h4zM12 18v-11h-4v11h4zM6 18v-8h-4v8h4z\"><\/path>\n                               <\/svg><span id=\"yasr-vv-text-container-618a2f637f1d9\" class=\"yasr-vv-text-container\">[Total: <span id=\"yasr-vv-votes-number-container-618a2f637f1d9\">0<\/span> Average: <span id=\"yasr-vv-average-container-618a2f637f1d9\">0<\/span>]<\/span><\/div>\n<div id=\"yasr-vv-loader-618a2f637f1d9\" class=\"yasr-vv-container-loader\"><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<div id=\"yasr-vv-bottom-container-618a2f637f1d9\" class=\"yasr-vv-bottom-container\" style=\"display:none\">\n<div class=\"yasr-small-block-bold\"><span class=\"yasr-already-voted-text\"><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<p><!--End Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><\/div>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h4 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Read also<\/h4>\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-list\">\n<li><a href=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/the-americanina-part-two-the-epilogue\/\" data-type=\"post\">The epilogue from back then<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<div style='text-align:center' class='yasr-auto-insert-visitor'><!--Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><div id='yasr_visitor_votes_1faa688d02e71' class='yasr-visitor-votes'><div class=\"yasr-custom-text-vv-before yasr-custom-text-vv-before-2151\">Click to rate this post!<\/div><div id='yasr-vv-second-row-container-1faa688d02e71'\r\n                                        class='yasr-vv-second-row-container'><div id='yasr-visitor-votes-rater-1faa688d02e71'\r\n                                      class='yasr-rater-stars-vv'\r\n                                      data-rater-postid='2151'\r\n                                      data-rating='0'\r\n                                      data-rater-starsize='24'\r\n                                      data-rater-readonly='false'\r\n                                      data-rater-nonce='15742a9427'\r\n                                      data-issingular='false'\r\n                                    ><\/div><div class=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container\" id=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container-1faa688d02e71\"><svg xmlns=\"https:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" width=\"20\" height=\"20\"\r\n                                   class=\"yasr-dashicons-visitor-stats\"\r\n                                   data-postid=\"2151\"\r\n                                   id=\"yasr-stats-dashicon-1faa688d02e71\">\r\n                                   <path d=\"M18 18v-16h-4v16h4zM12 18v-11h-4v11h4zM6 18v-8h-4v8h4z\"><\/path>\r\n                               <\/svg><span id=\"yasr-vv-text-container-1faa688d02e71\" class=\"yasr-vv-text-container\">[Total: <span id=\"yasr-vv-votes-number-container-1faa688d02e71\">0<\/span>  Average: <span id=\"yasr-vv-average-container-1faa688d02e71\">0<\/span>]<\/span><\/div><div id='yasr-vv-loader-1faa688d02e71' class='yasr-vv-container-loader'><\/div><\/div><div id='yasr-vv-bottom-container-1faa688d02e71'\r\n                              class='yasr-vv-bottom-container'\r\n                              style='display:none'><\/div><\/div><!--End Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Click to rate this post! [Total: 0 Average: 0] Straight from the past. I see her arriving, with her blonde hair, same childlike face but with a serious air. She hints at a slight smile and comes toward me. It&#8217;s her, the last person I ever thought I&#8217;d run into again, the first I would [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2154,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"yasr_overall_rating":0,"yasr_post_is_review":"","yasr_auto_insert_disabled":"","yasr_review_type":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[38,26],"tags":[112],"class_list":["post-2151","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-little-american","category-report","tag-american-girl"],"featured_image_urls_v2":{"full":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a.png",1024,1536,false],"thumbnail":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-150x150.png",150,150,true],"medium":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-200x300.png",200,300,true],"medium_large":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-768x1152.png",720,1080,true],"large":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-683x1024.png",683,1024,true],"1536x1536":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a.png",1024,1536,false],"2048x2048":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a.png",1024,1536,false],"typology-cover":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a.png",1024,1536,false],"typology-a":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-720x1080.png",720,1080,true],"typology-b":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-580x870.png",580,870,true],"typology-c":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a-320x480.png",320,480,true],"mailpoet_newsletter_max":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/36c45e0e-2ed5-4eb0-9218-2c5952cde39a.png",1024,1536,false]},"post_excerpt_stackable_v2":"<p>Click to rate this post! [Total: 0 Average: 0] Straight from the past. I see her arriving, with her blonde hair, same childlike face but with a serious air. She hints at a slight smile and comes toward me. It&#8217;s her, the last person I ever thought I&#8217;d run into again, the first I would have wanted to see. Yes, her.The Americanina.The one who made me lose my mind for the first time, only to ghost me and disappear forever. She greets me, sits down across from me at the table in the pastry shop where we&#8217;d agreed to meet.&hellip;<\/p>\n","category_list_v2":"<a href=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/category\/little-american\/\" rel=\"category tag\">Little American<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/category\/report\/\" rel=\"category tag\">Report<\/a>","author_info_v2":{"name":"MagniFico","url":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/author\/magnifico\/"},"comments_num_v2":"0 comments","yasr_visitor_votes":{"stars_attributes":{"read_only":false,"span_bottom":false},"number_of_votes":0,"sum_votes":0},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2151","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2151"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2151\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6387,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2151\/revisions\/6387"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2154"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2151"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2151"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2151"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}