You were standing across from me on that walkway, dressed up in your nice clothes. You had inched back so that your heels extended past the edge of the concrete, which pushed you all snug like into the bush behind you. You looked ridiculous. I laughed and you told me your feet hurt (your nice shoes), which only made me laugh more. And that was it, the moment. It was adorable and I melted. I melted into you more than I already was (this in spite of all my denials and evasions and reasons why not), and I stayed there until the night we were finally together, and through it, and on into the day and night after, and all the way until now and probably still beyond it. And the moments where I was nervous or awkward or defensive was all just being scared. Of looking stupid, of not being experienced enough or pretty enough or blah blah blah/this that and the other/x y and z enough. Of wanting you so much and you not wanting me back.

Now I’m six thousand something miles away and you’re still right there. Heels in the dirt, hands in your pockets, smile on your face. And me, all melty before you.