“What?!” you ask, wrinkling your brows at me. Oh shit, was I staring? You’re convinced that your neighbor’s new husky was Sinatra in its past life. Needless to say, as you went on about its bright blue eyes, I got lost in yours.
“Sorry,” I mutter embarrassedly, wiping off the smile that has unknowingly crept on my mouth. “I was just trying to figure out what song this is,” I lamely attempt to save face. My response satisfies you and for a while you get sidetracked and tell me that it’s by Kings of Leon and it was actually written for a Victoria’s Secret model before you continue explaining your theory. It amazes me how you can effortlessly go back and forth the current and the classics. There’s more to you than anyone I’ve met before and it’s always a rush to be in your presence.
You find joy and excitement even in the most mundane of situations, heck, only you can make getting the mail an eventful occurrence. I can’t help but be fascinated. The cat person in me honestly couldn’t care less about that husky, but I can’t do away with seeing your face light up as you recall how it danced along to your ringtone. “Imagine the world behind those blue eyes,” you conclude. I nod earnestly as I wonder about the workings behind yours.
A couple of drinks in, and were talking about our own reincarnations. You say you want to be a grizzly bear and you hope to God you don’t become a pigeon. I say I want to come back as Rockefeller. “No!! That’s cheating!”, you object as you throw your head back laughing. Your laughter cuts through Ed Sheeran’s lamentation and I start to feel a warmth fill my chest. It doesn’t matter that were in a gloomy dive bar because that’s all our internship could afford, and that it’s the middle of Friday and we should actually be in those said internships; I’m not sure if it’s because of the alcohol, but at this very moment, I feel truly aligned with the present. “You’ll be a unicorn,” you finally say. I feel my cheeks heat up. It was definitely not the alcohol.
Happy hour is over and it’s time for us to meet our more responsible friends at a speakeasy in Tribeca. We’re gathering our things when I ask what your plans are for the weekend. I watch your eyes twinkle, but what you say next stabs me in the gut – “Sam finally asked me out!”. Oh. “That’s great!”
You went to the restroom while I wait for our change. “That must’ve been tough,” the bartender says as she hands it over. I raise an eyebrow challenging her to explain. She leans over and dramatically whispers, “I know you’re in love with her.” I wanted to argue but she quickly cuts me off, “Don’t bother explaining. I’ve seen it a million times before, babe.” She pours us a shot each of whiskey, raises her glass to the television hanging in the corner and triumphantly declares, “Love wins!”. I follow suit and catch a glimpse of the celebration in Washington before gulping my poison down. “Love wins,” I echo unconvinced. She pours another round and winks at me. “You will too, one day,” she reassures me. And I drink to that.
“Ready, Sarah?” you ask with that big smile of yours.
I nod and follow you to the door.
I step out and am greeted by the sultry New York sun and the clearest blue skies. I smile to myself, certain, that even if it’s not with you, the future is bright and promising.