an opening of the heart

As some of you, my faithful and constant readers know, I've been "seeing" a guy for the past...little while. I don't know where exactly we started...neither of us do probably; some people you meet and you quite simply connect with them instantaneously. There's absolutely no logical explanation to it and it happens with friends and lovers. Kindred spirits find each other despite all odds. The fact is--I wasn't even supposed to go out that night in January. I was exhausted from working all day and was booked for day shift the next morning as well, but Dave insisted and made fun of me.

"You work at nine," he said. "That's fucking nothing. You can party until 5 am."

Okay, Dave. Maybe you can do that in the army where you apparently sit around and listen to radio chatter for hours on a mountain top.

Whatever, I went out with him because it was the last night he was going to be around for several months. I love my brother. He's such a dude but he takes the time to call me every couple weeks and check up on my life.

Anyway, we went out, met up with a couple of his high school friends and that was that. I was loaded basically from the beginning to the end and didn't have a very accurate perception of what people looked like or what I was doing. I remember making out with a random guy half way through the night and somehow losing the rest of the crowd during that period. That always seems to happen to me. Losing people, that is. Oh, and the making out. Both kinda, I guess.

The girl who was with our group sat with me at the bar and we talked about the men in our lives. She told me about this guy who she has feelings for and then asked me who I was seeing or if I was interested in anyone.

"Nope, no one," I said honestly. Because I don't get caught up in school girl crushes or fantasies. I feel very pragmatic when it comes to "love".

"What about DudeGuy?" she asked. (I'll just call him DudeGuy in order to protect his identity from you crazy readers!)

"I really don't think he likes me that much," I replied. "He hasn't hit on me at all. I'm not his type."

She laughed and brushed it off.

I guess I'm bad with reading guys and their intentions because he walked back to my apartment with Dave and I and we sat on the floor in the living room, me resting my head on his shoulder, Dave surfing Youtube at 4 am, listening to all types of outlandish music that sounds so much better when you're drunk out of your face.

Dave eventually left to catch his flight (which he sat through drunk) and DudeGuy stayed. It's weird how I never said, "Hey do you wanna stay?" He just knew I wanted him to stay somehow and we went to bed. That is all this honourable girl will say, except that he walked me to work the next morning, holding my hand, and came back the following night just to sleep beside me.

And now almost two months later he still knocks on my door and smiles widely when I open it and he sees me. I'm more afraid than I have ever been in my life, because I've been too close to the edge, the edge being him leaving and my life going back to being DudeGuy-less. It struck me during those moments that--

I love him.

I love his smile that crinkles up the corners of his eyes.

I love his laugh.

I love how he sighs with contentment and places his hand on his heart when he's happy.

I love how he starts his sentences with "Say..." as he's about to propose an idea.

I love how he pauses to think about what to say, careful in choosing his words, and then says, "Well..." before continuing on with his thoughts.

I love how he somehow knows what I need to hear and says it.

I love it when he sings a bit of a song softly in my ear or when he says my name with affection.

I love that we can cry and be emotional without judgement.

I love our physical chemistry, the touching, the desire in our eyes when we look at each other.

I love him.

When I truly pause and think about the past weeks that I have spent with him, I know exactly when my heart opened up to him. It was January 30, a Sunday night. I wanted to show him the new apartment so we came over here and walked around through the empty rooms, the wood floors creaking. We chased each other playfully around the apartment and then I sat on the radiator in the kitchen and he stood in front of me and spontaneously sang a line from a song. It was then I knew that I could love him with every fibre of my being, and I believe it was then that I started to love him.

"I have never felt thunder and lightning like this

I have never been struck by a wonder like this..."

"Ich Kenne Nichts - Sohnee Mannheims ft. Xavier Naidoo, upped here.

A huge part of me worries that we're too different. He's calm, I'm driven by emotions. He's thoughtful, I speak impetuously. He's artistic, I'm just...logical. He's spiritual and I'm religious. He could probably find someone who would better match his temperament and be able to relate to him much better than I can. A cowardly part of me sees wisdom in ending this before it gets so much more complicated.

When it comes down to it though, love is a dichotomy of easy and complicated. It's far too multi-faceted to be one or the other. Whatever happens in the future, I know with assurance that my conscience is clear when it comes to how I feel for him. I'll try my hardest to stand behind him and be there for him, be his Person, and that's all I can do. I can't predict or control how he'll feel about me next week or the week after... I can't control others; I can only control my own actions.

And my action is going to be love.

Love.