It’s been a week.
A week since our fateful kiss, the one we were unknowingly building up to over the years. So transient those moments. I remember when it happened; afterward we hugged, and I knew it was transient, and I smiled, drunk with love, and tried to hold on, to memorize every single second, to take in every breath, every fiber of his being.
I did all that consciously, telling myself in an instant, “You’ll look back to this moment many times, and you’ll seek comfort from it over and over again.” And now I’m here, 7 days forward in time. Days until I see him again? 135 … at least.
I’m stuck in the walls of time. I want it to move forward, I try to will it rolling, hoping it just might pick up traction and bypass February, March and May and halt to a stop at June. But it doesn’t move. We’re still in early January. I’m pushing against concrete. And the more I push, the more I feel me grounded on the 11th.
What is this chase? Why do we sling our net of hopes and needs and have it catch somewhere, then “know” that that’s where we should be? What is the endgame? What is there, that place, there vaguely in the distant future?
Is there a point in waiting? Is there a point in pouring our emotions into something that’s too far to even see?
No. Because we’re too young to know. We, humans, are too young, too shortsighted, children by nature, and we can’t tell, we don’t know this world. We are merely visitors, outstaying our welcome. We are not supposed to know.
If he were to tell me today, “Wait for me,” would I? I would. There is no end in sight, no obvious crossing of our paths and yet I would. I barely know him. And this is why girls lose out sometimes, this is why mothers, sisters, daughters, friends can tell you all about self-sacrifice over some guy.
The rest of us will always wonder whether these women aren’t so smart and “know” that surely we’d do better. But the reason we wouldn’t do better isn’t smarts or chance or circumstance. I strongly believe that it’s biology. Because this doesn’t feel like me. This isn’t me. I’d never make this decision. Nature, who’s trying to trick me into mating, is the culprit.