I had a crush on you.
I went into yet another first date just thinking, “Why not?” After a series of never ending first dates followed up by…well, nothing, I pushed myself to journey on. I had seen you before via the social mediums that constantly suggest you know someone based on a formula of “who you are” and thought you were cute, but wasn’t sweating you hard enough via your profile pic to creep and add you.
But as the stars have it, and a certain miles radius, specified age range, and gender preferred, our paths crossed. We were matched. We chatted. We began whatever it is you begin.
You had great energy through text messages, and it really felt like you were excited to meet me, as I was you. There was an ease, a mutual intrigue, something blossoming.
Time was working against us. I was busy. You were busy. I had someone in town. You had someone in town. Yet, we kept texting, arranging, rearranging. Finally, as if it was never actually supposed to happen, we made it happen. I even blew off a really good friend’s birthday because we all know that once you get past 2 weeks of texting and not meeting it becomes all the more unrealistic that we shall ever meet. I had also pushed back twice.
You picked the place. I was on time. You were late. It didn’t bother me. You walked in with a pure pleasantness and it felt like we had already met. You were the first person I told about my mom. I revealed too much right away. You didn’t flinch. It was endearing and I was grateful.
We took forever to order because we got lost in conversation. It was clear that this would be a good date. I wasn’t sure if I was physically that into you, but your personality, aura and demeanor won me over. We shared each course. We had a lot in common. Attraction was established.
We left and took a long stroll to an ice-cream place closed. Desert was saved as 16 Handles always delivers. I showed you my “crackden” and walked you out. You asked to kiss me, which I normally hate, but you were too cute to care. I said, “Of course.”
We made out. Made out some more, and then made out even more. Fleetwood Mac embraced the moment and it was time to send you home. One last kiss and the night was done.
I wanted a second date. We had a “second” date, and then a second date. I wanted a third date. We had a third date. I wanted a fourth date. We had a fourth date.
I know I can come off strong, so I backed away a bit. The next morning you backed away entirely.
I had a crush. It was exciting. I wasn’t in love. Hell, I was casually “dating” someone else the first week we met. You got into your head. You were honest. I won’t fault you.
It was nice to have a crush again. It was nice to feel like I was being crushed on. It was ok that you saw something bigger than what was going on. I saw it too. I wasn’t in a rush. It was a bummer, a disappointment, a let down to hear the “friend” word, but I was ok with it. I liked your soul, your stance in life, your big ideas. I was willing/wanting to be your friend.
It went silent. I was a fool. I had a crush.
Crushes are exciting, they feel good, they remind you that there is more than just you. I look forward to my next crush. I hope it becomes more than that, but if not so be it. I will in the end thank you for reminding me what that initial spark feels like. It hurts to have it extinguished, but it hurts more to forget what that little beginning of a flame feels like.
I sometimes think it would be easier to shield my heart, to be icier, colder, less open. It is not me, so I move forth heart on sleeve, book open and eyes dreamy. Willing to get hurt, to be let down, to be bummed out because in the end you have to risk it all to have it all.
I had a crush. That’s all.