He’s Just That Into You… Maybe??

Today (On day I am writing this but will be posted several days later), the New Yorker and I went kayaking and I was so excited for it. The night before I had booked the rental reservations I was literally jumping down in my seat nor could I fall asleep that night till 2am. I might as well have been excited for Santa Claus coming the next morning.

I got the idea a week ago, when he and I went out to eat at Red’s Ice House. We saw dolphins jumping in Shem’s Creek playing with the kayaker’s who paddled on by and I was just like… I want to do that. It made me think of when I was fourteen and visiting my dad in Calgary for a couple weeks over the summer. There was this very suburban park and man made lake and one afternoon, my dad simply offered to go kayaking together. I could not say why or how this idea got started, only that it did. The next thing I knew I was paddling away in my own boat while he and my siblings were in another. I remember the sun shining down on us and how fun it was to paddle the oars back and forth. Afterwards, I remember being tired but I mostly remember, damn that was fun!

So as I looked at the dolphins, unbeknownst to The New Yorker, I began to think of going kayaking as something to some how set in motion for us to do together. Over the last month he has mentioned several times how he had wanted to go out on the water via a boat. He mostly meant he wanted to float on a big tube on the back of the boat but, I digress. I didn’t know how to rent a boat but then again I didn’t know how rent a kayak but I guess you could say for my own personal interests I was more motivated to look into kayak rentals than full on boats. The boat seemed like a lot more work to be perfectly honest and expensive. The New Yorker thought I had missed looking at the dolphins, or well most of them, but what he didn’t know was that I was capturing a dozen other moments in the process. I was enjoying the sensation of being near him, even as he scrolled through his phone. I can still close my eyes and remember all the sounds of people talking and seagulls squawking and the smell of salt in the air. I can see the waiter going from table to table, the dirty dishes at the bar from the couple who just left, and the guy at the last table furthest from me with the ridiculously tall blue drink I was curious about. I remember laughing at the several emotions that flashed across the New Yorker’s face as I took out my phone to take a candid photo of him. It happened so quickly but with my eyes closed I can slow down the process. The quizzical furrow of the brows as he is trying to figure out what I was doing. The sudden widening of the eyes of surprise followed by annoyance with a quick flick of a momentary eye roll and grimace of pursed lips of acceptance of what I had just done.

“Did you just take my picture?” He asked knowing the answer.

“Yup!” I said not even for the briefest of moments sorry. It was the second photo I had of him that wasn’t on his dating profile, the one before that was our first trip to Island of Palms at the end of July. I wanted more photos of him and for him to take photos of me, I just didn’t know how to ask for it.

“Dork,” he half muttered, shook his head and went back to looking at his phone. I smiled and ate another chip from our appetizer. But anyway, I digress. Let’s move on.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write about my current dating life or if at all but, when I woke up from my nap today, I couldn’t help but want to write about a few things that’s happened thus far. So at least for the moment I am writing about dating on a case by case basis. I’ve actually been in the process of actively writing two other blog posts but like all things to do with creativity, inspiration controls us and not the other way around. My other two blog posts have nothing to do with dating and will be called Have A Little Bit Of Faith In Me & Understanding Anger. I’m not rushing either post and will probably bleed into the middle of October at best before either get published.

But that being said… I want to go back to the day of eating lunch at Red’s Ice House on September 7th before I talk about what happened today, exactly a week later.

Our lunch was two out of three level good, at least for me. I really enjoyed our nacho’s and my five liquor rum drink that if I drank quickly would knock me on my ass. It was only the lobster roll that didn’t send it out of the park for me. I couldn’t tell if I liked lobster rolls or not or if it was just this particular place’s style, it’s something I’ll have to make a mental note of. But like most times, The New Yorker and I split an appetizer and share our food. He knows and understand me enough by now that I have to basically try everything on the menu. It’s become so ingrained in me because of three reasons. One, I have to know what everything tastes like. I mean I know grouper is going to taste like grouper but, that being said, how does this place in particular cook their grouper? What oil do they use and how well do they drain the oil? How often is it changed? How much do the cooks care about two nobodies ordering their food? It’s not so much that I am super invested into all of these questions, it’s not like I’m a food critic over here, but at the same time it does matter to me at least a little bit.

The second reason is that I love to find my favorite items on any menu. I wouldn’t say that I’ve discovered a defining sense of self like Tom Hanks describes in You’ve Got Mail but, there is definitely a sense of finding yourself when finding your favorite food. For example when I went on a date last October with my friend, who I call in this blog Matthew Broderick, we met at TCBY and I analyzed his yogurt flavors. Vanilla with honey and granola. It said to me, old fashioned with an often over looked sweetness. Which I don’t think I’m wrong about him in that way. I happened to order both raspberry frozen yogurt combined with strawberry lemonade and vanilla yogurt drops on top. To me this said, odd, experimental and a little bit basic. It’s easy of course to analyze ice cream flavors, I had a good conversation with the brother of The New Yorker about my current favorite flavor of ice cream: birthday cake. Is it basic or not, and why? What exactly about “birthday flavor” makes it more common than say, chocolate or vanilla? When it comes to food other than ice cream, that when it gets a little tricky. Like what does enjoying blackened foods say about me? Blackened fish or jerked chicken. Or other ethnic style foods as Cuban, Asian, Greek and other Middle Eastern? Does it mean I’m just adventurous? That I enjoy the heat and for my life to be well… just a little bit exciting? I couldn’t say. All I know is that I love knowing what everything on the menu tastes like and picking out a few standard favorites that I’ll order again and again. Is this what it means to have a defining sense of self?

The third reason why I love to try everything is that I want to be a walking zagat guide. A part of me does want to be able to drop a recommendation at the drop of a hat but also offer suggestions on what food to order based on the person who is asking. There is a moment in Season 4 of Gilmore Girls where Jason Styles gets himself invited to dinner at the challenge of Lorelei. He then proceeds to taunt Lorelei by asking for restaurant date recommendations for dinner. While Jason makes triumphant side eyes at Lorelei, Emily proceeds to list off at least five places with detailed descriptions. I didn’t enjoy Jason’s obvious manipulation tactics in order to get information out of someone but, I did envy Emily’s tact and composure to be prepared for such recommendations. There are a handful of people that I very much want to visit Charleston and if they ever came here I would want to be ready so they could make the most out of their trip. I also want to be that friend in the city who always knows a place to go to for a bite to eat and has excellent taste.

All of this being said, it’s a part of The New Yorker that I appreciate understands about me and also wants to partake in. He not only doesn’t mind sharing his food with me but I can tell is also curious what my food tastes like from time to time. It makes me feel a little bit like the song from Tarzan, Strangers Like Me. And yes I did just link to a Phil Collins song lol. So judge me, I like it and just paused my writing to listen to it three times. The New Yorker and I are very similar in the sense of wanting to see the world around us and needing to know it.

Afterwards we drove to Isle of Palms. We hadn’t been since the end of July, there wasn’t any specific reason why we hadn’t been back, we just hadn’t yet. Folly Beach was closer but as we drove out that afternoon, he mentioned that because the last time we had gone to Folly Beach on August 26th, I had been very afraid of the waves. (Among other things) He didn’t say he didn’t want me to be so scared but, through his tone, I could tell he was playing over that day over again in his head. He didn’t want me to be scared. I looked at him for a split second as he was driving and felt my heart twinge. It was very thoughtful. He remembered. He remembered how scared I had been. We didn’t bring up Lee or anything else. I turned my head back towards the road and felt the corners of my lips turn into a closed smile. Then he took my hand as he was driving and kissed the back of it. My heart thumped a little harder but I still didn’t say anything, just smiled as he put my hand back on my lap and then back on the steering wheel.

The waves were perfect, which is to say that there weren’t any. I was feeling a little nervous about my swim suit, it was the first time I had ever worn something strapless even though it was still a one piece. It had felt a little more fitted to my body, rather than snug, as I had been losing small amounts of weight the last month or two. That in itself is another story, I’m not at another clothing size smaller yet but I have definitely been able to feel the difference. But anyway, I was nervous about the possibility of possible wardrobe malfunctions in the water but decided to say screw it and walked right into the water anyway.

The water felt like a warm bath that I just wanted to sink into. I kept walking further and further out, trying to have my feet not touch the bottom. Quickly I had out paced The New Yorker and he raised an eye brow at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “You’re just walking a little far.” The water was far enough up to my chest to make it appear that I was completely naked but it still felt like a ways to go to actually go swimming.

“Don’t you want to not touch the bottom?” I was confused. I thought he liked this. But he just shook his head and waved me over so I came. He pulled me close to his body and kissed me. “What was that for?” I giggled at him.

“I dunno, I just wanted to.”

I wrapped my legs around his torso and kissed him back. “Okay,” I replied with a laugh and let myself float while holding onto him. “You’re such a dork.”

“I should totally dunk you under water.”

“Don’t you dare!” I said feeling like Anna from Frozen but then two seconds later I couldn’t help but challenge him like a brat, “I like to see you try.”

He proceeded to try and I squirmed like the slipperiest eel you could find out of his grasp. Which sounds funny and innocent enough in the context by itself but The New Yorker also saw the panic in my eyes as I fought a little bit harder than one would normally struggle. As his grip got tighter I also begged, “No, no, no, please no!” The fear of when my mother had tried to make me do an underwater somersault by leaning me backwards over my screams of no suddenly flooded my anxiety and kicked in my fight or flight senses. The New Yorker quickly let go and I tried to shake it off by hopping away triumphantly but I was mostly just relieved. I tried to act tough and brave but I don’t think he completely bought it. I swam back to him and we made jokes and intimately flirted some more for awhile.

Later he admitted to not understanding how strong my fear was and that was fair-ish. He had sort seen the freak out to a mild extent explained on my blog entry I Want To See You Be Brave but it was now that he was finally sort of understanding how serious the problem was. We played and joked around the rest of the afternoon but he didn’t try to dunk me again.

Afterwards we went back to his place like we usually do to continue on to some more adult X rated things that I won’t be blogging about here. I took a shower, got dressed and we resumed an episode of Future Man, a show he’s seen but was encouraging me to watch with him. A couple episodes later, it definitely felt like an ice cream break. I looked at my phone that was now nearly dead but had enough battery life to put in an Uber Eat’s order. The New Yorker still hadn’t tried Ye Old Fashioned ice cream yet and it was time to pull out my Emily Gilmore card out in being able to pull out finally a good recommendation he would like. I had tried twice before, first with Mellow Mushroom pizza seeing as he was a New Yorker. He said it was good but as a New Yorker, said it wasn’t a real pie. The second recommendation was a hidden ice cream shop in Summerville called Hidden Treasures and I could just tell wasn’t worth the drive to him. But Ye Old… I knew I was going to hit it out of the park except this time, I just kept my mouth shut and didn’t rave about it in advance. I wanted him to come to his own conclusions.

We put our orders in and then I put in the suggestion if maybe his brother would like some ice cream too. I went to ask and handed his brother my phone to look over the menu. He and I talked, like about the birthday flavor is it basic or not, and as we talked The New Yorker got on his laptop and started talking on Discord. I could hear voices coming from it and was trying my best not to eavesdrop. Which I did pretty well until I heard,

“How’s it going with that girl you’ve been talking to?” Of course my head perked up. Excuse me, what??? I was pretty sure it was about me and The Yorker followed up with.

“She’s alright… I guess… she’s sort of right here.” I turned my head to look at him. Had he really been talking about me to his friends like I had been talking to mine? What did that mean? It was one thing when he was being overly concerned about my fears about the beach but I didn’t chalk that up to mean he felt something about me. I talked to a specific friend all the time about my dating life and analyzing it but… men and women process their feelings differently, or so I’ve learned throughout the years? Maybe?? If a man starts to bring up a woman he’s seeing to his guy friends, doesn’t that signify something more? Is he starting to view us as something more than friends with benefits? I didn’t know how to feel about that. He had already either deleted Tinder or just unmatched from me and possibly OKCupid and those were two red flags I had already not known how to ask him about. And now talking about me to his friends?

I told his brother to keep looking at the menu and I walked over to The New Yorker, standing beside him. I wondered, how much do I bust his balls over this or let him off easy. “Hi,” I said in my friendliest but slightly awkward voice. “So you’ve been talking about me huh?”

“A little bit,” he shrugged, only squirming in slight discomfort. At best he was really good at hiding it.

“Mmmhmm,” I replied teasingly. He proceeded to change the subject by showing me all the discords he was in, what they did what and why, which people were in each and why. It was totally to throw me off investigating what he had said about me but at the same time it did feel like he was actually enjoying showing me into his world. These were his people, well some of them anyway. I had been to his place previously a handful of times before and once or twice, he had loosely shown me a couple of the video games he played the same way I play Sims but what he was showing me now were people who he played these online games with. It felt nice to see a glimpse of his life and who he is. I told him how weird it was to see so few channels in each server when in each of my own four discords I’m spread thin on maximizing every channel limit I can get of the 500 allotted given. I offered to log into Discord on my account on his computer and show him what I meant but, it ended up being easier to give him an invite code and see for himself, which he did. And that was nice too. It was nice showing him back a piece of who I am too.

His brother was done finishing up his order and the three of us talked in the living room for a little bit joking very inappropriately. The New Yorker and I went back to the couch to put on another episode of Future Man, I curled into him with my head on his chest and he kissed the top of my head which felt different this time. I looked up at him and smiled.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied and kissed him.

“Dork,” he said.

“Yup and you like it,” and with that I snuggled in closer and put my head back on his chest.

My phone ended up dying less than an hour later completely. It’s an iPhone let alone an iPhone6, it does the best that it can. But I wasn’t worried. Every time I’ve came over to The New Yorker’s place, he drives me back home even when I offer to take an Uber. He says he just doesn’t feel right as a man and I’ve learned to just let people do nice things for me even when it makes me feel like I should owe them something back in a quid pro quo sort of way. We watched three episodes in total and I was starting to get really tired. It wasn’t super late but I was thinking of heading back home and going to bed. I stretched and then said this thought aloud to him.

“You can stay the night if you want,” The New Yorker said offering. I thought about it.

“I’m not sure,” I said hesitantly. It was a bigger offer than he understood and instantly a pro and con list started formulating inside my head and here’s what I knew. Saying no wouldn’t change things between us, at least I didn’t think it would, lines wouldn’t exactly be drawn the way saying yes could. His parents were coming down in two days to stay for the next few months, it was their place, and the only other time I would be back is if I had been invited to meet his parents. And I definitely did not know how I felt about if an offer to meet them was ever presented. Discord friends are one thing, even getting to know his brother but parents are a whole nother ball game. This basically meant there couldn’t be an opportunity for us to sleep over together for quite some time and that we would either have to rent a room or get creative. Both for the record, are fine with me.

“You can think about it,” he offered. “Take your time.” I smiled and kissed him.

“Ok,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

The biggest question I had for myself was, would I regret this if I said no? Would I always ask myself, what if? What if I had just said yes. The second question I asked myself, what does this mean for us? Am I leading him on? I really enjoy his company and the time we spend together but what if he is falling for me the way I fell for Lee? What if I can’t return his feelings? Is this how Lee felt? Is the shoe on the other foot? First The New Yorker deleted his dating apps, or at the very least we were unmatched from Tinder and I had no idea what was going on with that. Then he specifically took me to a beach where he knew I’d be extra comfortable and feel safe among the waves. Then, when we played in the ocean we were more hands on pda than we had ever been before (which I enjoyed very much). He introduces me to his discord friends, shows me details about his hobbies, genuinely wanted to know about mine and now… inviting me over to spend the night.

It was a lot to think about. I had put him into a box of just a casual lover and hopefully friend once rolling in the hay days together so to speak were over. We hadn’t had any deep conversations before and this was the first time I was truly getting to know him. I really liked what I was seeing but I was hesitant.

I figured I could think about it and make up my mind over sex so we went into his bedroom and well… what I just said. The only difference was at one point, we did actually make love, or at least it felt like it. I couldn’t tell if this was intentional on his part or just trying something new. Maybe we had different ideas on what that meant, I didn’t know. My heart was literally pounding in my chest. Afterwards I curled up into his chest, satisfied but so confused that I wanted to cry. What had just happened? Where were the lines and separation? But I thought about it some more, should I stay or should I go? I kept asking myself over again if I would regret saying no. I didn’t even have the same questions as I had the night I had spent over with Lee, like I had already heard The New Yorker fart and teased him about it. Nor was I afraid of him hearing me snore or kick in my sleep, albeit I did warn him in advance. I wasn’t scared of The New Yorker seeing my flaws or how I looked in the morning, I knew he already liked me and I felt completely comfortable around him. Possibly this was because of our friends with benefits unspoken rules but mostly I just trusted him.

When he asked me again if I wanted to spend the night, I looked at him and said yes. Because I didn’t want to be afraid, not of this. I wanted to know what actual sleeping together was like. If it meant something more to him then, we could deal with that later. Maybe it was selfish but for my own curiosity’s sake, I wanted to know.

I turned my back to The New Yorker to be the little spoon. He kissed my shoulder and wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes and sighed and he did it again. I was nervous about trying to fall asleep, feeling both hyper alert and exhausted at the same time. I shifted my body over and over again trying to find the exact right comfortable position and every time I did, he would kiss me again softly on the head or shoulder and rub my arm, almost instinctively. I couldn’t help but happily sigh each time. He continued to do this even after I heard him lightly snoring and shifted to reface his chest. Eventually I did fall asleep but it did take awhile and I woke up a couple times during the night. Each time he was still holding me and each time I moved even slightly he would again and again kiss my head or shoulder while rubbing my arm. I kept waiting to stop liking it but I didn’t.

When I woke up the next morning I was on the edge of the bed facing away. At some point I had pulled myself away, uncomfortable being held for so long. I turned over and was also surprised to see him on the opposite edge of the bed facing the wall. I scooted in close and let myself be the big spoon then kissed his shoulder. He didn’t stir and I just laid my head on his back and hummed. I laid like this for a few minutes, trying to just let myself enjoy being still. When I had spent the night over at Lee’s place, the next morning I had ruined it for myself by being too anxious and not being able to stop fidgeting. I didn’t want to ruin this right here, right now with The New Yorker so I closed my eyes even though I was wide awake and forced myself to relax.

About ten minutes in he started stirring and I scooted over towards the middle of the bed so he could stretch out on his back. He pulled me in close, kissed my head and I sighed on his chest. It was weird but it was nice. It was weird because I was scared and I was scared because I was enjoying it. Just be in the moment Sarah, I told myself. It was really hard but I tried. I looked up at him and he looked really happy, a smile curling on the ends of his mouth.

“Good morning,” he said as he stretched his arms above his head. I looked at the clock and it was eight thirty in the morning.

“Yup, you can officially say good morning now,” I said cheekily and pecked him on the lips with a kiss. My breath stank and I was self conscious about it. It’s a joke between us because he always is trying to wish me good morning in the after 12pm and I always remind him that it’s really afternoon. I don’t remember what he said back, probably something cheeky but he was half awake and I put my head back on his chest and forced myself to join him asleep.

I woke up a couple hours later at 10:30 restless, again. I fidgeted and squirmed, waking him up. He kissed my forehead and I returned it by a peck on the lips. I slipped out of bed to use his bathroom and then brush my teeth with my finger as best as I could to freshen my breath. It didn’t do much. The New Yorker was dozing when I came back. I tried unsuccessfully rouse him in other ways and ended with just my head back on his chest. I was beginning to get really impatient but I didn’t want to go home either. I didn’t know what we would do, only that I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. Despite not wanting to go back to sleep, I didn’t want this to end. I felt like Cinderella whose time at the ball was up. The clock had struck twelve and things were slowly reverting back to as they were.

So I asked and he said that as much as he would want to, that he had a bunch of chores and errands to get done before his parents got there. Which was fair. Did I want to be selfish and steal him away? Yes. But that’s not the kind of person I am. I only ever want people around me of their own free will and not because I guilt tripped someone into staying. So I said sure, that I understood. But we stayed there for another hour hanging out and talking. By 11:30 though I could just not stay in that bed any longer and offered the idea of breakfast. I threw out four different suggestions with various stages of excitement of their food recommendations. At the end of the day we settled on IHOP because I wanted to order lots of food and not be judged for it. I even warned him before we ordered our food, do not expect me to sit and eat like a lady for this. I’ve said this to a couple of different times now and he just shrugs.

The food seemed to take forever and too quickly at the same time. I didn’t want to go home, I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted to stay in this happy state of mind and not analyze everything to death like I knew I was going to do for the next week. I had gotten to a place where I was just so very blissfully… happy.

Funny enough when I got home the first thing I did was lay down and took a nap.

So where does this leave us now? All of what I wrote before happened on between the 7th and the 8th and we have seen each other since. We went kayaking exactly a week later on the 15th after he had spent the rest of the time catching up with his parents. He texted me the Monday before on the 13th how he “sort of” missed me. Well, he wrote “my lips” but I knew what he meant, or at least I hope so. I wrote him back that I missed him too. And I did… well, still do. There is a part of me that yearns to talk to him everyday and keep getting to know him more. While I wait for my new phone to be delivered (the last one stupidly being destroyed by my own stubbornness), I’ve rushed to the computer everyday to check for new messages from him.

We do talk for at least a little bit everyday and I even opened up to him a little bit more about my writing and this blog which in of itself was so scary. Over the last two months, I have told him a little bit about it in pieces here and there, dropping little bits of bread crumbs, but never in detail. One night when he asked me what I was up to, I decided to be honest and talk about my writing because I had spent the last four to five hours doing nothing but nonstop writing this blog entry. But after I told him I was writing, I became nervous, had he read my blog? I asked just in case he had gotten curious at any given point over the last month or so to look it up. Thankfully, he hadn’t.

I tried to explain why he might not want to read it but I wouldn’t be upset at him if he did read this. And then he asked a very hard question for me to answer.

“Any mean stuff about me in there? Criticisms I wouldn’t like?” So I told him the truth.

“It’s honestly so hard to say. I wrote a blog post last year about a guy I had a one night stand with, showed it to him and he got upset that I used the word lanky to describe his body. I haven’t described your body type but I just never know what will set someone off. To me lanky was just an adjective to help describe the way his body moved. I didn’t even blink or think twice about it but it was something he had been really insecure his entire life.”

He replied, “Fair enough.”

So how do I feel about the New Yorker now? Honestly, mixed feelings. I’m especially nervous to confess this knowing there is a real possibility of him now reading this and knowing how and where exactly I stand. We had a good conversation a little later that same night, I was honest with him about a major factor why I was scared of him reading my blog was that I didn’t know what we were. Thankfully we seem to be in agreement on what that is which is: I don’t know but I know I just like spending time with you.

On the one hand, I am in a place where I just can’t progress into anything more serious or committed at the moment and he is in the same boat but at the same time, after what happened a couple weeks ago, I am starting to feel things deeper and don’t know how to progress. Like don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely not love. It’s like, before I was okay with going long gaps of not talking or conversation through our texts just dropping, that was fine with me. But now… I miss him. Like I said a few paragraphs ago, I rush to the computer to see if he’s sent a message and my heart does this little flip every time we joke around. I get sad when I haven’t heard from him and I start to get upset at myself for caring.

I don’t do well with games, like at all. I am someone who says how she feels and likes to lay her cards out on the table, I always feel better after being honest. But my honesty always scares people. At first people find me a breath of fresh air because like a former coworker once told me from, “People think those things all the time but they never actually say them out loud.” A little bit of this is fine, but the more that I open up, the more I get to be too much for other people so I’ve learned to distance myself from others and never really let people see the full me. People start to look at me like I’m Gabbie Hannah and part of this is my own fault, they want to shut me up.

The New Yorker and I have never had any rules from the start, I’ve always just let it be what it is without question. But I also wasn’t feeling anything. I wasn’t intentionally putting up any emotional guards or closing myself off from love but at the same time, I was being careful. I tried to keep looking at things objectively and telling myself why it could never go further, I kept telling myself that we were just two different types of people and I was okay with that.

After rewatching for probably the ninth run through of Netflix’s show You, I’ve come to identify that my main kryptonite, is definitely needing that security in another person, of being really seen by then and wanted. Minus of course the stalking or being stalked. But that feeling of being wanted. I want to let myself completely fall for someone hook line and sinker and I promised myself that the next time I tell someone I love them, it will be for the last time. I want to see someone to see me the way all the songs I’m linking to, including The Wonder Of You. Actually embarrassingly enough I have a playlist of 50 really horribly cheesy romance songs that I sometimes let myself get caught up in, imagining one day they I will feel that way towards someone. Or like our dear Whitney Houston sings

“I need a man who’ll take a chance
On a love that burns hot enough to last
So when the night falls
My lonely heart calls

At the moment I have to honestly say, How Will I Know because all I ever know is that I seem to fall hook line and sinker every time I start to feel wanted. And that scares me. I feel myself being pulled back towards that charted territory of rushing into things too fast, of running off the cliff at full speed just to fall back into love. But this time I’m not running. My feet aren’t dragging per-say, but I’m inching towards the edge of the cliff and peeking down at it’s familiar bottom. I’m not fearful of the fall or the jump but it’s one hell of a painful journey back out of the hole when life has taught me it enviably doesn’t work out. But I do. I want to find a way back into love as cheesy as that sounds and I want someone who wants to grow old with me.

More likely I would rather be with someone who grow as we go but yeah. You guys get the picture already. I’m really good at beating a dead horse into the ground with all of my explanations. Or Tim Curry says from Clue, “To make a long story short…” “TOO LATE!” you shout in the background.

What I’m trying to do is just trust the process and not stress about it, something I’m not really known for. It’s been pretty easy thus far because my emotions have kept out of it but I can see them there, starting to sneak their way back in. I just don’t want to get hurt again… not the same way… not like before. There is never a sure fire way of ever knowing of how you feel towards someone else, romantic or even platonic will ever work out or felt back in return, you just kind of need to cross your fingers and hope for the best. So yeah… I guess I’m just going to have to keep my fingers crossed and just… trust. Love until later.


Sarah Smiles

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