i was a little bit in love with him that very first night. standing at the end of the bar, scruffy beard, glasses, leaning in to be heard over the din of the restaurant.
it felt so easy. as if we'd been sitting next to each other at dinner parties for years.
but we hadn't. it was new--and the juxtaposition of the new and old--easy and not--set my stomach aflutter.
i can't remember the details of that first night, only how i felt.
certain things, yes. but for i who remember almost everything, the loss of memory held its own power, it seemed important.
and so i held on to my idea of it--to his deep set eyes, and the gentle brush of his fingers.
i've been trying hard to remember of late. or perhaps, to imagine. just how i felt the first time i saw him. what he thought when i sat down atop the barstool.
because i'm quite sure that whatever he felt that night has long since passed. but the thing is, i'm just ever so slightly--just a little bit--in love with him.
and so i clung to what i thought could have been.
he was busy. this much i know. and i attempted patience. but before long i discovered the line between patience and the pursuit of a man not interested to be small, thin, and unforgiving. and there i was on the unenviable side where pride came into play.
and i am too proud. this much i know. and not patient, but we've covered that.
and yet i'm a little bit in love with him. and how to say that?
and because i couldn't--because i can't, i do silly things like fall apart on the subway.
or in church this morning. or in the cab ride home while my mother listens and my father inquires as to how i can afford said cab. (i can't).
my brother once told me the blog is more interesting when i'm unhappy. i'm the girl who doesn't get the guy and for the sake of the blog i can't be.
well, blog, today you win.
(for the sake of kindness,
and because i want to be
classy about this (and stress
that this is only one piece of
one side of a story) please
refrain from commenting in
any way about the guy.)