We meet on our first date, things feel a little awkward, but when don’t they? You tell me about your job, your childhood, your family and the moving around, I tell you the same bar the fact I never left the one town. I crack some jokes, some land, some miss, on paper it doesn’t seem special.
But I felt it, you felt it, there’s something here.
The third date rolls around, after our dinner, I took you for a wander through the city streets in the night, we reached a park and there was a quiet band playing and I spun you round and started slow-dancing, you started giggling and calling me cheesy, but you snuggled into my chest. The night wound down and you asked if I wanted a coffee, I replied saying I don’t drink coffee, I kiss you on the cheek and leave to go back home.
Our eighth date you confronted me, asking “what the hell?!” and I have to explain that I have rushed a physical connection with partners in the past, and that I didn’t want to do it this time, as I apologise for the lack of communication.
A month or two roll by and we get caught in a thunderstorm hiking, when we make it back to the car and dive into the back seats, peeling off the sodden clothes. It is here where I steal a glance, and our rain soaked lips meet.
This is the love that changes what we think of the concept.
