Every story has authors and characters; you were the author of this romance. You initiated this romance at World Pride in New York City, a day spearheaded by happiness and friendship. A day accentuated with not only love for yourself but for the community as well. A day celebrated by a love cultivated over decades of hard work and sacrafice. I walked into this Pride party ready to celebrate this love and make new memories with my friends when you approached me. You introduced yourself so quickly, pointing out the fact that we had already been acquainted via social media; a virtual connection finally meeting in the flesh.
The rest of the afternoon we talked multiple times, barely leaving each other’s side. I do admit I thought you might be getting sick of me as if I was occupying too much of your time so I stepped away to chat with my friends only to find you right behind me ready to engage in conversation again. That afternoon was and will always be perfect. The subtle goodbye, so you could sneak in a quick nap before teaching class, was all I needed to know you liked me because you leaned in for a kiss. I was in a state of awe.
We parted ways only for a few hours to reunite later in Chelsea for a continued exchange of kisses and compliments. You made that Pride special. Our story continues to spill over onto more and more pages of 2019; evenings spent over Facetime, afternoons playing spy, making jokes others may call pointed. Our humor overlaps like our bodies have countless nights in your room. But as “cuffing” season approaches, I feel you pulling away.
After all you are the author of this romance. So where will we end up?