It was 2009, and we were drunk – on tequila and on each other.
It was the all-consuming, stormy kind of love. The kind that makes you feel like every moment is bringing you closer and closer to the eye of a hurricane, and even though you know you could get swept away and completely destroyed, you can’t stop.
That’s the way we fell into each other, right from the beginning. There was no gradual build, no cautious behavior. One day I had no idea who he was, and the next day he filled the spaces between each and every second that ticked by.
He loved me in a way that made me feel invincible. I wanted to pour his love all over me and splash around in it for the rest of my life.
But I wasn’t ready. I tried to splash around, but it was too deep. I was drowning.
“I just can’t,” I said.
And so we didn’t.
Years went by, and I traveled from city to city. Los Angeles, Phoenix, Chicago, New York, DC. He went from city to city, too, and we crossed paths in San Francisco.
“I miss you,” he said.
“I just can’t,” I told him.