I miss meeting a guy and knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that I wanted to spend more time with him. I got so used to talking myself into a first or second date, that I forgot what it felt like.
But then he approached, with a cautious smile. The one I offered in return was genuine. We talked. I didn’t play games, or force him to work all that hard to get my number. All I knew is that I wanted more time with him. I thought that everything he did was fly, from overtipping the waiter to the way he imitated his parents’ accents.
And honestly, I can’t tell you what we talked about for 5 hours. It was a blur of discussion about music and immigration and Jesus and T.I. We listened to old love songs and talked about our dreams. I tried to forget that I had to teach early in the morning and sipped my coffee with urgency.
In those moments, I remember that, deep down inside, past the cynicism, and former heartbreak, I’m a romantic who wants to love and be loved.
That type of connection, that sort of chemistry, only happens once in a while.
And then I’m back to watered down conversation.
I want the type of conversation that makes me talk until my phone dies. I want the type of connection where I will sacrifice time and energy just to hang out with that guy.
I refuse to settle for anything else.