The Date.

The date.

I want to say it was random. But random doesn’t describe us.
Not even as individuals.
I would say it was planned.
But then that would imply that we have things in order.
We can call it an idea. Something you conjure up in your head. It sounds good. It looks good. It almost seems too good to be true.

A date that is so simple. But I imagined it serval times since I first spoke to you.
A date. The first date.
The first time your hand touched his face. The first time you gave him a hug.
The first time you noticed his fragrance.

It’s the moment you come to the conclusion. Do you want your idea to become real?

That moment I didn’t have to write a list of what I liked and didn’t like.
Trying to convince myself that he would make a great match.


I would take whatever package he came with.
In let time do the rest.

I left the date thinking. If I indulge, then I won’t entertain anyone else.

Not even when I’m bored. Or when I’m left wondering, what’s nexts, will I get more.

Somehow his energy earned my respect.

I can be a disciplined partner. A smart partner.

One that only expects you to give what you are willing to give. That alone is enough to tell me if I’m a passenger or just a thrill.

It was a date. A short date. A simple date.
Just enough for me to explore the idea.