He’s different. He’s different from the rest.
For one, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone really see me like that. When he looks my way, it feels like he’s looking into my soul. No joke. No exaggeration. It feels like that.
There was this one moment. After I sat in his car next to him, after he started driving, after I started talking and talking like I always do, he turned to look at me. Just a quick glance before he fixed his eyes back on the road. But holy fuck, our eyes met for just a fraction of a second, and my heart did it’s mini marathon, and I felt… Well, after feeling mildly startled, I felt good. Really good.
That look will forever be fixed in my mind.
But I think what surprised me the most was how easy it was to tell him everything about how I was feeling and not feel like a crazy idiot. Because that’s what I feel like when talking to all the others. Like a crazy idiot. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you know I have the highest self-esteem around but it’s more of a concious awareness that they probably think I’m a crazy idiot.
I also appreciated that it didn’t feel like I was having a conversation with myself. Nor did it feel like I was under pressure to get everything out so that he could spend a pre-determined amount of time deliberating on what he should say as if we aren’t two people discussing dating and relationships and falling in love (falling, not particularly being yet) and instead negotiating war treaties at the U.N. or something.
Conversations are not negotiations.
We felt comfortable enough to interupt each other’s thoughts and it was terrific. It was kinda funny, getting distracted and taking turns reminding each other what we were talking about.
I didn’t expect to tell him. I did not expect to tell him that I have feelings for him in a bad kinda way and that I want to give us a shot. But it was so easy to tell him. A lot easier than I expected. I mean, after I got through the initial inertia.
It wasn’t difficult to beat that though when he went “Tell me what’s on your mind or I’m not starting the car”… I’ve gotten used to people telling me “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to” as if trying to be considerate of my feelings, which only makes me feel like the opposite. I hate when people do that – try to be polite and considerate and nice instead of just being normal. I don’t want nice. I hate nice. I despise nice.
I prefer rude and straightforward and honest and open.
How the hell did I go in thinking “I’ll keep my feelings to myself like I’m usually forced to do” and come out thinking “I just fell a little more, a little harder, a little faster”.
If you ask me at what percent we’re at right now though… I’ve stopped counting. I meant it when I realized this isn’t about some checklist of perfect traits in a significant other. Sometimes, it’s just those feelings. And I’m feeling amazing.
