My body knew it before my brain. My heart did a little pitter patter and before my mind could even piece the string of digits together, I knew. I knew it all too well. There are states and people and diners and rivers between us and somehow my phone buzzes and it’s like you’re right there. Like you never left.
I tried to write this post yesterday but the words eluded me and I opted for one of those late night writing sessions for my eyes only. What I say here and now is probably still wildly inappropriate but such is the risk a blogger takes. Not too long ago, I wrote about first loves. But in some other galaxy, where you recycle your kindergarten references to your latest crush, there’s that person you really, really liked. Even as an adult, the word like carries heavy weight. I don’t like many things or many people, but the things and people I like, or better yet love, I hold dear. I protect. I invest in.
When my phone danced on my desk yesterday, my mind skipped back to last fall and the last person I really, really liked. Last fall, I was a recent grad pushed in to my adulthood, and I had yet to toss my college dating mentality alongside my ill-fitting clothes before I left Maryland. Men were still “boys,” dates were still a movie on someone’s couch and owning genuine feelings for a human being was a dreaded distraction, not a complement to my own life. So, only in retrospect, only after having first dates that never turned in to second ones, only after forcing chemistry with past beaus did I come realize, oh shit. I really, really liked this person.
And maybe it was life. Maybe it was the first trimester of one of the ugliest times in my life and it was hard to feel anything for anyone. Vulnerability frightened me. And maybe it was time. Maybe it was too early or maybe it was too late. Maybe you were right there on the cusp of everything good. Maybe it was intention. Yours never defined, mine never spoken. Or maybe there weren’t any maybes, maybe there will never be any maybes, because something tells me it was definitely never supposed to work. Even so, I really, really liked you. The way I like vanilla custard with rainbow sprinkles on Sunday nights right after I grocery shop. Yummy. The way I like sifting through blogs and magazines in bed on Saturday morning. Comfortable. The way I like blasting my music after I leave the gym and my endorphins have skyrocketed. Exciting. That’s how I liked you. In a way that was intricate and effortless and exhilirating and everything.
If there is anything I have learned since we did some crazy, premature stunted dance with each other last fall, it is this. This life. It’s short. I should have been brave enough to tell you these words then instead of leaving them on this page now.
Xoxo,
Tyece