If we're going to go through a list of things that I'm not good at, picking the right time to kiss a lady is high on that list. I've had a few times where I've been pushed aside or even slapped for misreading a situation. I've found out after the fact that I missed a few opportunities due to my chronic dimwittedness. More often than not, I have to be told 'we are going to kiss now' in order for it to occur. As I've noted on many occasions in the past, I am pretty clueless about women.
This time, I trusted my instincts as I believed I'd read the situation correctly. For once my instincts were right.
Without becoming too personal, it was a polite but meaningful kiss that briefly became a bit more... enthusiastic and then calmed down again. When it was over, I was politely flushed. For a moment, we stood there in each other's arms and smiled watery smiles. “So, now what?” she asked.
I had no good answer. “I dunno. We can't just keep doing what we've been doing, can we?”
“I can't,” she answered. “I just can't.”
“Then I guess we'll have to figure something out then.” A thought occurred to me. “We're not talking this conversation; we're thinking it.”
Sarah Jean's eyes lit up. “The link's back up!”
“It most certainly is.” I thought that deserved another kiss. Luckily for me, Sarah Jean had the same idea.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
I Say Some Stuff
I will be the first to admit that my reaction to these words was not the best. After a pause to allow the chills to fade, I noted “We've discussed this before.”
She was leaning back against a mighty tree for support because nasty fellow me was just staring at her. “I know we have.”
I continued. “We have different hometowns, different jobs, different friends...”
Sarah Jean interrupted. “But only one heart.” I had no immediate response to that declaration so she followed up on it. “We've spent so much time in each other's heads. We're comfortable with each other. We're good friends. I don't want to be without you.”
“You're not without me now,” I noted.
“That's not what I mean and you know it,” she retorted. “I know you've had relationships sour on you before and I know you can be guarded but you don't trust me now?”
“This has nothing to do with trust.”
“Then what?” she demanded.
This is where I was frustrated and it bubbled forth. In a less emotional moment we discussed all these possibilities and decided to stay friends because of them. Exasperatedly I asked “And we do what exactly? You move here and get bored with a less adventurous life? Or I leave my admittedly comfortable job to start all over in New York? Or sit around the mansion while you go out on missions, hoping for you to come back safe?” I paused to collect myself. “I love hearing your stories but that doesn't mean I don't worry about you.”
Sarah Jean was quiet. “I know. I can feel it.”
“Nothing has changed there,” I stated. “We are who we are.”
“I know.”
At that point I couldn't look at her because I knew she was crying. I couldn't blame her in the least. Here she was, pouring her heart out to me in person and I was being all cold and logical back to her. Just mean. Even at the time I knew I was being mean. And that hurt, stabbed me to the heart.
I turned to her. She was staring at her feet, silently crying. I sighed, aware that I was going to do something that, logically, was stupid. I took her hand, pulling her away from the tree. This made her look up at me, allowing me a chance to wipe away her tears and tuck her hair behind her ear. “I do love you Sarah Jean.” And then I kissed her.
She was leaning back against a mighty tree for support because nasty fellow me was just staring at her. “I know we have.”
I continued. “We have different hometowns, different jobs, different friends...”
Sarah Jean interrupted. “But only one heart.” I had no immediate response to that declaration so she followed up on it. “We've spent so much time in each other's heads. We're comfortable with each other. We're good friends. I don't want to be without you.”
“You're not without me now,” I noted.
“That's not what I mean and you know it,” she retorted. “I know you've had relationships sour on you before and I know you can be guarded but you don't trust me now?”
“This has nothing to do with trust.”
“Then what?” she demanded.
This is where I was frustrated and it bubbled forth. In a less emotional moment we discussed all these possibilities and decided to stay friends because of them. Exasperatedly I asked “And we do what exactly? You move here and get bored with a less adventurous life? Or I leave my admittedly comfortable job to start all over in New York? Or sit around the mansion while you go out on missions, hoping for you to come back safe?” I paused to collect myself. “I love hearing your stories but that doesn't mean I don't worry about you.”
Sarah Jean was quiet. “I know. I can feel it.”
“Nothing has changed there,” I stated. “We are who we are.”
“I know.”
At that point I couldn't look at her because I knew she was crying. I couldn't blame her in the least. Here she was, pouring her heart out to me in person and I was being all cold and logical back to her. Just mean. Even at the time I knew I was being mean. And that hurt, stabbed me to the heart.
I turned to her. She was staring at her feet, silently crying. I sighed, aware that I was going to do something that, logically, was stupid. I took her hand, pulling her away from the tree. This made her look up at me, allowing me a chance to wipe away her tears and tuck her hair behind her ear. “I do love you Sarah Jean.” And then I kissed her.
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