I think I finally figured out why I only ever miss you in the fall.

I remember sitting at the bar, waiting for you to arrive, sipping on a hot toddy, shaking with anticipation and nerves. I didn’t want to meet you all that much, there was nothing that had honestly drawn me into you other than that you seemed excited about the prospect of meeting me and we seemed to have enough in common to hold a conversation. 

My hot toddy warmed my hands and I nearly forgot to pull the wool hat from my head as I waited for you. Luckily, I remembered before you came in. You, with your own hat on your head, one that you’d later reveal was something one of your ex-girlfriends had made for you in college. Your habit of sharing bits of the other girls in your life would never be lost on me.

And when you sat down, I sighed relief internally that you were more handsome than I’d imagined you to be. Sighed relief internally when we laughed over embarrassing Bruce Springsteen obsessions and when your hand touched mine, how you apologized for having sweaty palms. You were nervous.

We ordered a second round, I had another hot toddy, the warmness only adding to the already pink of my cheeks. I was getting nervous for the night to end. I was enjoying you so much. And when I was halfway done with the second drink, you leaned into me and asked if you could kiss me. I nodded, I wanted you to. Oh god, I wanted you to!

You kissed me, chastely, innocently on the lips, and my eyes were wide open, nervous about the strangers around us, not wanting to get so lost in the moment. You pulled back and asked me why my eyes were open. I laughed and asked why were yours open. And then you kissed me again. This time my eyes might have closed. Maybe. For a second or two, as my fists clenched closed and I tried to stay on solid ground. 

I’ll blame the hot toddies and how they warm me up right in the middle, they shake loose a sentimentality that I seem to only grab onto in these colder months when there’s whiskey and lemon and cinnamon sticks at the bars. When my sensory memory kicks me back to that fall when you held so much potential in the sweaty palm of your hand.

I like the sound of my name most when it's in the tone of your voice. Even when you're only saying it to punctuate a sentence during an argument. Or, perhaps, especially then.

an off-the-cuff introduction

I opened this tumblr a while ago with every intention of using it. I never did. But as of today, I put myself on an 8 month plan. A plan to get right, get happy, find a job that's fulfilling and doesn't leave me at the end of a 40+ hour week feeling like I didn't fucking do anything; meet a cool guy that isn't pretentious, isn't friends with my brother, isn't trying too hard to be some idea of a person. 

I was walking home from a first date just now, a first okcupid date with a guy I'd been texting with all weekend (I am convinced this is the kiss of death, texting for extended time before a first date), the date was terrible. I had no interest in him. I thought it was obvious. I didn't get a drink after my second beer. He did. My leg was shaking with anticipation to get up and leave. He was drinking as slow as possible. 

I bussed my beer cans to the bar, walked back over. "I think I'm gonna head out," I told him.

"Well, this is awkward," he responded.

"Oh... Did you want me to sit and wait for you?"

"No, it's cool, it's cool."

I don't know how to end dates that don't interest me without being callous. I don't know how to respond to these guys that don't meet the mark, don't pique my interest. And it pisses me off.

And even when I hugged him goodbye, told him it was nice to meet you, the way he touched my side and seemed disappointed that we didn't kiss, I couldn't help but think, are you serious, dude? 

last good first date

I have been on shit dates since I met you. A year and a half of shit dates since the day I met you. I’m not writing this so you can lord it over me, to give you the power of having less feelings. I’m writing this because you never saw me. I am a strong woman. I am a beautiful, strong woman. I am an interesting, beautiful, strong woman and you always managed to look right past me. I’m writing this because you never realized all of the things that I am. And you didn’t deserve all the feelings I had for you. Didn’t deserve the way my pupils dilated upon seeing you, how my stomach flipped when you told me how much you loved Bruce Springsteen, how my heart raced when you asked if you could kiss me. I have never in my life felt about anyone else the way I felt about you on that first date, sitting at that bar, awkwardly talking about your clammy hands. 

I'm writing this because I almost called you to tell you all of it, and you definitely don't deserve that.