Lying on the beach with the Walking Red Flag with him reading me Neruda in Spanish and English, kissing me, touching me, I felt like I was having a peak happiness moment.
I had no idea how long we were out on the beach, but when we finally got up, it was four a.m. We’d been on the sand all that time but never done the photo project with the glow sticks, and it would be light out soon. Our date had been going on for about eight hours, and in that time the WRF had morphed from undateable to the best first date I’d ever had.
Yes, he was still the same guy who’d told me in the first twenty minutes that he had three ex-wives and three kids and was living with his parents, but being with him felt good. No one had ever read me poetry on the beach, much less in two languages. And there was something about the WRF’s touch – it was magnetic. When he touched me, I wanted him to touch me more. Not to mention that he was an amazing kisser, and we’d just kissed for hours and hours that felt like minutes.
No, he wasn’t long-term material. But he felt great now.
And isn’t now all we have, really?