“Maybe one day I’ll take you to New York, blondie.”
That’s what he calls me because when we met, I was all eyeliner and leather – very Debbie Harry he said: cool and aloof. It’s not what I was going for that day, in fact I wasn’t going for anything but, hey, I’ll take it. Although I imagine the “blondie” tag will grate eventually… but not yet, nothing really does in the glorious beginnings.
Still, I liked that he said “maybe” to the Big Apple…unassuming, you know? Not taking anything for granted, because that way lies irritation, disappointment and a sad faded rainbow.
“A lawyer and a writer, it’s a great fit” he added. Hmmm… I play with words and marvel at their magical power, while he works out how best to put them together to win over the doubters.
We both tell stories: mine are about purplish skies and broken hearts and his regard dicey trials and slippery sharks.
“That über analytical mind you’ve got means you could easily do my job” — when he said that, I resisted the urge to hop with joy, suppressed my inner demented frog…but that’s when I knew we were going somewhere, and that there’d be adventures along the way. Recognising my smarts is the path leading to my heart – how sharp you are, identifying the exact precise spark.
Yet, it wasn’t until he took my hand, his fingers – gentle but strong – linking with mine, that I realised how much I’d missed having a real man by my side.
Yeah, I can navigate treacherous waters on my own, but pride is ludicrous & misplaced when the right one comes along.
Your hand was my undoing: confident, but with no hint of possession – or worse, obsession – while your eyes showed clear signs of barely veiled passion.
Also: your wild shock of chestnut hair, how I love raking my fingers through it on your formerly monastic mattress.
Wasn’t it nice, the first time, to do (hardly) anything and just talk for hours, to savour the moment, desire cupped, bottled up till later, until we knew for sure this was more than a fleeting fire.
understand & like the fact I favour wild flowers, because shop-bought is so unoriginal, and a bore,
don’t mind my swearing like a sailor,
laugh at my offbeat humour, sarcastic jokes,
respect the fact I’m an addict & recently quit, so gallantly leave the room to smoke
make me laugh, chase away the dark, even when we’re apart
The way you let me go Dutch even though you think my insistence is faintly ridiculous – I’ll relax later – in the future, I’ll let you buy me chocolate fudge.
There aren’t many men who can make me bend, twist out of shape, even for an instant – while they trace the contours of my face with such tenderness.
You are starting to take up a lot of my thoughts, so we’re going to take this slow – stoking the fire, gathering up precious embers, watching it grow, as rose gold comes to the fore because
I think it might just be the real thing.