You asked me to write this. So here it is.
It’s yours. Like I promised.
But this was before, before when I was in your presence. Before when it was some kind of magic.
You’re 23 hours on a flight away from me.
And we’ve made no plans to FaceTime once a month, or to book a plane ticket to each other’s home town, or even to stay in touch when we both depart and we’re homeward bound.
A flight from San Francisco to Los Angeles had left me flustered. I’d been cornered in the hostel lobby to attend a bar crawl night.
You were there.
You talked about your recent birthday.
You told me you had already been wasted today.
You challenged me to shotgun my drink.
You put your hand in the back pocket of my jeans.
And you solicited me.
You held my hand and with my other I clutched onto your arm. It was raining as we swiftly moved on to the next bar, I was jumping over puddles and covering my hair from the precipitation. You looked at me like you wanted me, and I looked back at you with the same sparkling eyes in wonder.
You are surface.
But, you are also capable of being the depth of the Atlantic. You are charming. You are witty, funny and kind. You are more. But you’re also the kind of man who could be all things without authentically being open. Your biggest downfall is masked by your best qualities.
You surprised me.
You left me wondering what could have ever made you feel like you weren’t ever good enough. For your job, for your friends and for being open to meeting the person you could share a life with. Were you looking for an ego boost? Someone to fill a void of some kind of feeling? A quick fuck? You weren’t expecting me. You weren’t expecting a genuine, organic connection. You weren’t prepared to meet someone like me.
But somehow, before you crawled your way into my bed, you crawled your way into a little space, into some dark corner of my mind. That dark space wondered about someone like you, and where you have been for the most part of my adult life. Was it just a case of paths colliding? Beings wanting the same thing for one night?
Maybe I was running. Maybe I just needed you to fill some kind of a void for me. Maybe I was trying to screw away the pain of a broken heart. Using you as my escape to forget what had been at home before I left.
Maybe I was the one unable to let go of the idea that you can have a genuine connection with no forward thinking that it has to be anything more. Maybe I’ve just read too many books about romance and how the likelihood of meeting your soulmate doubles when you’re traveling abroad.
Now I’m home.
Now I’m where I’m meant to be.
Now I’m not thinking about where you are, or what you’re doing.
Now I’m sleeping with someone else.