Tommy Thompson Park

This is a photo from the day he first kissed me. We went for a 5-kilometre trail through Tommy Thompson Park, making it a 10-kilometre hike (walk). My feet will be sore for a week and a half after. It will hurt so much that I am unable to walk for two days. He kissed me when we were sitting on some rocks, watching sailboats and the city skyline. When I'm with him, I never want to stop.

I met him at a pool party almost three months ago. It was an old university acquaintance - someone I had classes with and sat at a couple pubs with, but not someone I spent a lot of time with. It was through another mutual friend that I was invited at all. It is funny how these things happen. Funny how coincidental life is. When we tell people we met at a pool party, I wonder who I am. I wonder how these things happen to me. This doesn't seem or feel like something that will happen to me. I met this boy at a pool party and I assumed I would never see him again. Nearly three months later, I miss him when I don't see him. I like hearing him laugh. 

Last Saturday, he texted me he was hungover. We were supposed to hang out. I brought pizza and kombucha (my hangover cure) over to his place and we watched Black Books and Bojack on Netflix. We sat with his roommates. I met a guy from my old high school (many years my senior). I am in awe how we do these things, in awe of how comfortable I feel in these situations with him. 

He holds my hand when we walk together. We do things together. We watch movies, go to bars, go to Shakespeare in the Park. He asks me questions about my weeks, my life, my history. He introduces me to his friends. We spend time with his friends. He wants to see me and spend time with me. This is a real experience, a real exchange with a real nuanced person. With him, and with me. The more time we spend together, the more we become 3-dimensional figures in each other's lives. I heard once somewhere that someone is less likely to steal from your wallet if you have a picture of a baby in it. I think you're less likely to have your heart broken when someone first acknowledges that you have a real heart capable of being vulnerable. We hold hands. We kiss. When our bodies fold together and I'm cuddled against him, I wonder how I might never leave. I like him. 

This is different. This feels different. I am not ready to admit or really openly vocalize my excitement. My best friend and I are of the variety that believes when good things happen, the other shoe will drop. The faint optimist in me wants to believe otherwise. He is so good. This is different. This feels different. If we look and compare and contrast, there are differences. I think both minor and more substantial. If we look, we start to begin to picture things that may not be there. I think we are creatures desperate to see what we seek. But this feels different, I say again. 

This is another photo from the day he first kissed me. I want to see him again soon. 

PS. Thank you to my friend Amanda who asks me about this blog, and reads my content, and encourages me to write more. I miss you.