Lovers and Friends

After a weekend that seemed to never end (in the best possible way), I came back down to Earth on Monday morning. Feeling tired but elated, I could feel a smile press into my lips, as I swam in the pool. Bliss dancing all over my body, in an embarrassing way, close-your-blinds kind of way.

I haven’t had a date like the one I had on Friday in sooooooo long. Too long. I kind of forgot dates could feel like that. I think I just accepted that they would be either nice or bland with alcohol the only escape window.

But Friday was like a Supreme Pizza. It had all different flavours that in a way cut through the dating fog of the past few months.

Friday night included friends, a Hawaiian shirt, some drama, a cardigan, a date drizzled with more drinks, which then evolved into a club night, a smoke machine, dancing and flaming shots.

For the first time in ages I forgot about the time, how many drinks I had and the usual annoyances of the week. All areas of my soul were purring, satisfied.

**The money… not so much. I guess it was the sticky price of basking in the moment. **

I feel like being an adult involves a lot of waiting time out. Doing things you don’t want to do but reminding yourself it will help future you.

But Friday night I felt like Cinderella, but rather the 21st century version who was a feminist, leaving the club in her own Uber, a blazer dress and wearing not one but two leather heels.

And then there was my date, a guy I had never met before sitting next to me, buying my friends and I rounds upon rounds of drinks. Who rolled up confidently to meet us and ended up making the night that much wilder.

He was a collection of traits that I didn’t think existed in men.

Calm, deep and extroverted.

He came with an adult job, adult money and a tongue for whiskey.

A phycology student who’s humour was so dark and crazy, I couldn’t help but laugh my lipstick off.

And cute, complete in a cardigan and ripped jeans.

The clicking sound so loud between us, possibly because it was so unlikely. The rondeau was basically a blind date, with us only exchanging a few words before the night began.

My friends made the clicking noise that much louder, as he hit that beautiful sweet spot of making the group vibe better while also focusing on me.

I liked that when I spoke he quieted down. That’s the thing with extroverts- they’re usually loud but when surprised it’s quite the opposite.

And in another crazy turn of events, the date continued. And after 2 days and 2 nights together, we finally parted ways.

I loved it. The adventure, the drinks, the night, perhaps him just a little. To my cynical heart’s surprise, it was really hard not to.

Over those days, I met how mature he was, how his age allowing him to live multiple lives. And even more than that, I liked how his body showed that; with scattered tattoos of where he’s been or thoughts he’s had, over the years.

His arm lightly inked with a dog, a matching friend tattoo and a van bumpersticker over his chest. Memories he takes with him during the day under a suit or on a walk with a giant German Shepard.

His ears still show holes from stretchers, reminiscent of his wild 20’s before he gave it all up, and in what must have felt like an instant, moved back home and didn’t touch another drug for 2 years.

Red flagggg…” I said, as he laughed.

” I would happily take one flag, compared to your ocean.”

I laughed back.

I also liked how he asked me deep questions like where I wanted to go in the future, about writing and my dad.

Having a stranger in your house is a weird experience though- Idk if I would recommend it.

It was like the adrenaline sports version of a date, via allowing him unfettered access to uncover all my internal dialogues of who I was.

From looking in my freezer and finding something superstitious to reading out loud my daily affirmations (even after I threatened to throw the whiteboard off the balcony).

Exposing my worst flaw highlighted in cat droppings that I couldn’t bear to face after a week, to seeing firsthand my most avoidant, messy, creative self; tangled up in a mountain of scrap fabric lounging across my breakfast table.

All the things I would hide with humour, he seemed to be fine with them. Even, found funny, before throwing out my toothbrush and replacing it, but not before asking me what colour I wanted and picking one himself.

Just one text and my smile turned on, like he installed a direct wire inside my brain, while I was asleep.

But I also couldn’t help but feel like meeting him was kind of like a cosmic, love-letter from the past. He shared so many uncanny similarities to my first best-friend, making him feel familiar. From his darker features, the words he used to the way he behaved. And because of that he was effortless to like.

Meeting him was like revisiting a lesson, a memory, a person that you can dance with once again. But with a different face and a clean slate.

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