Me too!

Oooh, I loved this. Entire relationships summed up in one paragraph:


He wanted everything about it so bad I couldn’t refuse. The time he told me that he sat in his dark room waiting for me to get off work shocked me still, almost paralyzed, for minutes. In the end, it would be hard to say who ripped the other up worse or for longer.

One good night, we joke-argued about the color of a palomino until I indignantly fetched each of us a dictionary. My roommate walked in on us, naked in bed, both furiously looking it up. We argued for real over whether the Rodney King rioters should be shot on sight and never stopped fighting again.

He made me young and taught me fun. In that relationship, he was the shockingly blue-eyed one. He would start conversations about our relationship after midnight, which can only go wrong. He loved me more, then I loved him more.

We were never bored if we were in the same place. Ever. We could play hours-long games of kai-bai-bo, going from regionals to states to nationals to the world championships to the Champion of the Whole Universe This Time For Real. He often hit on me at parties, sometimes real sleazy and sometimes shy and awkward. I waited for him when he kept saying he was coming back, but he never really did.

He wrote to me first and wrote to me more and kissed me. Then he was gone and I was grabbing at air.