I have to catch a 5 AM flight to California, and I need to sleep to make up for the fact that I have been wide awake since I met you. I haven’t lost sleep over someone in many years – and the deprivation is comforting and terrifying all at the same time. I do not know you. We only just met. A fading summer weekend, spent together amongst friends, water, and sunshine. And you could argue I was factually intoxicated. But it was you that I found toxicating. I can’t explain it, and it logically makes no sense to me.
But from the moment I said hello to you, I wanted more.
I’m not looking for someone.
You’re not my type.
We live in different cities.
I mock all my friends prioritizing relationships and marriages and babies.
Meanwhile, I work 60-hour work weeks and choose to have an intimate relationship with my yoga mat instead of people.
But there was chemistry. There was a reaction. This isn’t rocket science, says my heart. I want you. I want to know you, and be around you, and ask you questions about your past. How did you get to that remote lake, where our paths crossed for the first time? How did you become a person that captivated me instantly?
I’m unconcerned with where you see your future. I just want to know what you are doing today.
Because today, I want to talk to you. I want to think about you.
My brain wants to forego sleep so it can relive a few moments of a blissful weekend where I laughed like I hadn’t in years. Your reaction to me made me proud to be myself. And that is a rare exchange. I showed up to that weekend adventure with no expectations, no hopes, no knowledge of who would be there. I was not trying to impress anyone, nor was I trying to be impressed. But when I pressed myself against you, something felt right, and easy, and natural, and real.
I barely know you, but today? It feels good to think about you. It feels good to dream about seeing you again. And even though this love hangover could fade, and months could pass, and our separate lives could stay separate – I want to remember that weekend. I want to remember the feeling I had of being excited to share myself with someone. I don’t share myself with others often, so I’d like to remember how right it felt to let someone see me. I want to remember how it felt to be confident in a connection. To not second guess myself. To do something simply because it felt right. You made me feel comfortable with me – something I struggle with even in my longest friendships.
By all accounts, you are still a stranger. But the only thing that feels strange to me is how comfortable I felt with you. The only thing that feels strange is the excitement I have about seeing you again. I don’t want to turn that off. I don’t want to run away from it. I’d like to get closer.
I do not know how or when we will see each other again. But I want to.