You were always unavailable when I was single, and vice versa. Our feelings for each other would constantly reach dead ends, like wires crossed and sending only static. It was the opposite of synchronicity.
We spent many nights out at the old playground, swinging on creaky swings and watching our breath enter into the night. We’d talk about the afterlife, and art, and aliens, and anything else that entered our brains. Conversation was never difficult.
You’d sketch out little doodles for me, and I’d tell you all about the three act structure, characterization, and form. We’d watch movies, and I’d predict things a half hour before they happened. When you asked me how I did that, I’d let you peek behind the curtain too.
I wanted to so bad sometimes, but I never pushed things. I might not have always respected who you were with, but I respected you and your relationship with them. Months later, when we finally ended up together, you’d tell me how much you appreciated that, that I never came onto you or tried anything.
Kissing you for the first time was like taking a breath after being underwater for years. You’d think that feeling might fade, but it hasn’t happened yet. I don’t think it ever will.