I met you when I was 18. We shared not much else besides a freshman class at our university and a facebook message exchange, both carrying around broken hearts from the high school relationships that crumbled at the door step of higher education.
And then we were off, in opposite directions in pursuit of what I could only guess was many different versions of the selves we would eventually become… I was wild, and so I can only thank my lucky stars you didn’t know me then. I was a number on your friends list, a two line message in your inbox. Mutual friends and status updates, I’d be lying if I said I paid attention. I was here and now and wild, I was “numb what hurts” and “oversleep class”. I was “lack of discipline and structure”.
Had we met in the middle we would have only cleaved shortly after.
Fate was merciful.
But like any good author it mastered the foreshadow, and then you were gone. Back to the city I would so desperately grow to miss you grew new branches that later formed leaves and blossomed and found your own way. Somewhere between 18 and 19 I did the same, carried it through to my twentieth year, I spent my 21st birthday hunched over an anatomy book, you were about a month shy from an engagement ring. To say we lost touch would be unfair, unsure we ever established it to begin with.We were different people now; better, but not ready.
I was busy feigning love while you were sure you found it, I really hope you did. I hope you can look back on that and remember the happy before it hurt. Lesson learned, she didn’t know, she wasn’t ready. I think I was.
I wore boots that night because I hadn’t drank in months.
Three redbull & vodkas later and your mom had her hand on my shoulder and the other on her touch screen showing me a face I didn’t expect to be familiar. Foggy, but I pulled the pieces together. “I know him! We went to college together” Small world. (understatement of the year)
Week after Thanksgiving, wasting my time on someone who would never be worthy, leaning somewhere up against the free weights in between sets, there’s your mom again. Smiles, waves, “I can tell such a big difference!” and there you were, too.
A few weeks prior I had written about the desire to have someone who captivates me from the first moment we see each other.
“yeah, 16 weeks, I guess I’m doing this”
you: “is this your first competition” Game over.
“This is my son”
I know, I know. Freshman year, Facebook admission page, I know, I know. “hi”
I think we shook hands. (hah!)
Gym mirror eye contact for weeks after, stood next to the squat rack when I hit 225, stood on the other side of it next week and corrected my form, how much longer was I going to have to wait. Completely distracted by how captivated I was, everything was all at once brand new and foreign.
New Years Eve: come out tonight (pleasepleaseplease if you have plans break them)
Maybe. MAYBE. Screaming at work, dancing with my roommate. I was ecstatic. You have always struck me as special.
Confirmed: see you tonight. yes. yesyesyes.
You called another girl at midnight. Awkward silence.
“i’ll come kiss you after we get back from down town”
Why was I so disappointed??
Almost too drunk to care.
Shots, music, pictures, hazy, small moments I had to steal to exchange them with you. Captivated, new territory, I was so excited.
You put your hands around my ribcage to feel the asymmetry. My feet stuck to the floor. Game over.
The Took you a few more weeks to kiss me by the front door of your parents house. You love your self the way that I do and your hesitance was admirable. You’ve always been beautiful. You literally had me from hello.
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