Even before I met him, I knew he was on his way. I didn’t know what capacity he would be there for, but I knew he was coming. You see, I had been crying out to God that day about wanting a change, about wanting to finally at least see the man that he was preparing for me- the one that I made my vision clear about when I typed it up and put my Michelle and Barack picture on it to solidify how real it was going to be... promising not to mess it up by dipping in it too fast this time… you know, so I could let go of all my other boyfriends once and for all. His name came up in a random conversation and so, as all single women should be inclined to do, I turned to my bff, Google, and his face appeared. Interesting.
From the moment we first met, we talked for over an hour about art, life, possibilities, vulnerabilities, and everything in between. We stole away from the crowd and made our own secret garden in a bathroom and just… talked. What was this?
And then, as it happens… even though we didn’t talk everyday… even though we both had other lives to live, mine- mostly alone in my dreams, his- seemingly occupied by other women and dreams... I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop breathing him in. I couldn’t stop smiling uncontrollably every time he texted or whenever I heard his voice or whenever... I couldn’t stop being pissed off and worrying unnecessarily when I didn’t hear from him. I couldn’t stop trying to figure out what it was and why it had me so caught up when we hadn’t touched longer than a hug and had never even kissed...
He’s on my mind right now.
A little bit less than the day before and a lot less than the day before that.
I was almost in that sweet spot of not really caring if he ever called or texted again,
because he hadn’t in like a whole full day or 2,
and didn’t return my call before that,
and I knew that something felt off,
and I just couldn’t put myself through the agony of wondering why oh why he was denying me the right to dream about him happily and freely…
just when I couldn’t take it any longer…
And had resolved to giving up and letting it be...
he sends me a message.
It takes me back a little too… back to our long conversations each time we connect, back to our creative foreplay where we bounce poetry back and forth to each other via text… back to our mental penetration that penetrates more deeply than I had only imagined.
That sweet ish.
Yeah… that sweet ish that I was probably reading into way more deeply than he. That sweet ish that makes me sigh every time I think about the possibilities of being in love… like forreal… like forreal forreal… and with somebody that has no problem with letting you be you, that subscribes to your brand of crazy… that no matter what you toss out, he catches and tosses it right back in an even better form… deep people call it your twin flame… I call it: That One Guy.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting on my bed with a green veggie drink on one side and a glass of red wine on the other, listening to the drip drop of the bathroom faucet and wondering how it’s managing to irritate the life out of me because it refuses to catch the rhythm of my heartbeat. It refuses to stream… it refuses to flow. I want it to either stop dripping altogether or rain down like never before.
That’s all I ask.
Stop or flow… ‘cuz this in-between ish, even if it’s all made up in my own mind, even if it’s just that I haven’t come to grips with what it is yet… is for the birds.