Two years ago I hastily scurried out of your life. I left you with many questions, no answers–reaffirming, at the time, my mature immaturity. Now, here you are re-entering my life the same way you arrived; bold, unfiltered, and unapologetically you. With one text you somehow manipulate time by transforming 2018 into 2016.
I read the text, got mad, sad, then overjoyed. Respond or ignore? That was the question. I respond, because you have always had the ability to make me say yes when I otherwise would say no. After going back and forth with the routine, “how’ve you been?” it became apparent we have not missed a beat. You are still confident, flirting with the borders of cockiness. I am still sarcastic, toeing the line of cynicism and credulousness.
Then you call, because my texts are long, always over explanatory, and unnecessarily complicated. I hear your voice. Your energy. Your excitement. Just like that I am disarmed. At ease. Slipping away from “you shouldn’t be doing this,” and sliding into “this feels right.” Then the memories return. Seashells. Popcorn. Expired Salads. Hand Sanitizers.
We talk about going for round two (my expression not yours, because I love words and phrases while you just want the experience). I am flaky, noncommittal, rationally unsure– it’s been about two years. However, you said it best, you have given other men almost two years to seal the deal. Some have tried. All have failed. Yet here we are–you running towards me, me walking towards you.
I am different and the same. Finally, I am me, all me, everyday of the week. I am mature, more confident, louder, a little more bold. I am wiser, stronger, skeptical. Still, I am sensitive, inquisitive, indecisive, and unapologetically whimsical. By your admission, you too are different and the same.
If and when we go for round two, let’s move slow. Not too slow, but slow enough for me to remain me and you to still be you. Let’s move slow so we can patch the fragments of the past. Let’s move slow so I can rediscover you and you can reread me. Let’s move slow as acknowledgement that we have learned from our past. Let’s move slow so the temptations of previous mistakes remain temptations. Let’s move slow so I can savor every good morning text and roll my eyes at each outrageous idea you concoct. Let’s move slow so you can dilly-dally in my charm and be annoyed by my random philosophical tirades. Let’s move slow so we enjoy the process and journey, because in thriving relationships finish lines do not exist. Let’s move slow so in 2020 we aren’t trying to recreate 2018.