We met in the produce section of the grocery store by my apartment. Our hands touched and sparks flew as we both reached for the same eggplant. Our eyes locked, and it was like we both knew.
Right now your brows are probably scrunching together as you wonder who I’m talking about because, well, that’s not how we met. The way we met was a little less meet cute and a little more millennial. But that’s fine. Not every great story needs to begin like the opening scene to one of your chick flicks.
The way we actually met? Through Tinder. I sent you some flirty, semisexual message and, about a week later, you responded. I told you I felt like I was dying from corona and that I needed you to come end my misery via suffocation by sitting on my face. “YO FUCKING LO RIGHT?” Right now everyone reading this is screaming. Oh, I know, I know, the horror. But no, it’s not. It’s the opposite. It’s the opposite because I know of how the story unfolded and where it led us to.
What was meant to be some little fling got flung and then boomeranged back around and stuck. Neither of us were looking for anything serious. For a week we texted nonstop and that point was abundantly apparent. We’d both just gotten our hearts shattered into about a million pieces and we ourselves were 6 feet deep, cold but still searching for warmth. There was no way we were going to risk feeling like that again. Weak, small, vulnerable, helpless, unloved. You were especially afraid. It took some convincing and trust building on my end to get you to meet me in person. You were so nervous and seeing your nervousness made me feel just as nervous, but still, we connected. We laughed and joked, shared and kissed. Then we fell. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but we couldn’t help ourselves. But how could we when something feels this right? When it works the way you and I work? What you did was something like either magic or voodoo (I still have yet to have an answer) because you made me do something I’d vowed never to do again: trust. You showed me a side to myself that had been buried in a crypt for so long I’d forgotten it even existed. Now, one by one, we’re putting back together the pieces of our hearts that had been left shattered, only this time we’re putting the two back together as one. Its so cheesy you’d swear I watch those chick flicks of yours when no ones looking 😉
Now it’s just you, me, corny love songs, and endless inside jokes. We spend nearly 24/7 together and though you leave enough of your hairs around to make a wig, I never get tired of finding them. I never get tired of you. The way you leave me little notes. The way you cry with every movie we watch. The way you care for me more than anyone ever has. And I know you say you don’t, but I’m sure you must get tired of me. Of the way I leap onto you and make you carry me. Of the way I butcher every Spanish word you try teaching me. Of the way I make you sweat all night because I hold you till sunrise. One thing I hope you never get tired of though, is us.
I’ve written a lot, and I’m sorry to make you read so much. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you, and I’m glad we met. Also, you’re right—tinder did finally do us right.
So if I’m not with you right now, know that I’m wishing I was, and that I’m probably thinking about you this very second. If I am with you, then know that I couldn’t be happier to be with you and by your side. Regardless of where I am, know I’m happy to be yours.