I’m going to tell you a story about what I absolutely crave. It’s rare, and when it happens, it’s special. Ever have one of those conversations that you never want to end? Yeah, that’s what I crave. I come over to watch a movie with you, early in the afternoon. Somehow, the plans divert to having lunch. Our conversation starts simple, sharing about our favorite restaurants and why you have a strong dislike of mayonnaise and fuzzy fruit. It’s a texture thing, apparently. We talk about family and our childhood, concentrating on how we were raised and how it shaped us to be who we are now. It naturally turns to relationships and life, and you tell me crazy experiences that I would have never pegged you for doing. It’s so effortless for us to discuss our vulnerabilities, and we tell each other secrets that are being heard by an ear for the first time. I contemplate ending our conversation, trying to be attentive to the rule that you should end an conversation before it gets too good, giving you something to talk about next time. Eh, rules are lame.
As I move a slat of the blinds, the streetlight glares through the window, and I realize that we forgot to have dinner. We escape the walls of your house, in the middle of a spring shower, and grab a bite at some tasty hole-in-the-wall, continuing to explore each other's psyche. Dinner talk revolves around nothing, and by nothing, meaning Seinfeld nothing, enjoyable nothing, not superficial nothing. After dinner, we grab an impromptu ice cream, have some playful laughs about the dumbest thing we did with the opposite sex, and race the rain back to the house. You tell me about what scares you in life (being alone and not having someone care about you on a day-to-day basis), and I tell you about what I can’t do without (a partner-in-crime I can experience life with). We talk about our struggles and the trials and tribulations of life, but never talk about our common interests. (It's our common struggles that connect us, not our common interests.)
The conversation has no sign of ending, and we continue to peel back the layers of onion of who we are. The outer skin is nothing overly special, but as we reveal each layer, there's another, and another, and we wonder when the layers stop. I start to worry about my car parked outside, and if it’s being broken into. But I don’t care about it, rather letting the burglar rummage through my belongings than break up this connection I’m having with you. We end up sitting in your bed cause its late…like 3am late. I look at you, and you just look so kissable, and I want nothing more to just lean in, but I don’t. We talk about the next time we are going to see each other, and all that consumes my mind is how I’m going to set up the first kiss the next time I see you. We are having an intimate time; we struggle to keep our eyes open, our eye lids staying closed longer and longer with each blink. You fall asleep, and I realize I need to get home so I can get in 4 hours of shuteye. I kiss you on the forehead, tuck you in, and let myself out.
On the way home, the pounding of the rain and the rhythm of the windshield wipers drown out my thoughts of what we just spent all day talking about. I can't even remember...all I remember is the feeling of a well spent day exploring someone new, exciting and interesting, and I'm going to sleep well knowing that I'm going to see you again in 2 days. And we didn’t even have a chance to watch the movie. There’s always next time…