Tonight I took a walk with a beautiful girl with a beautiful name in a park where, it's rumored, Hammer (formerly MC) was shot several years ago and not as long ago my ex used to jog/walk with a friend. Albuquerque feels small like that, as if there's nothing left unexplored. The girl with the beautiful name told me about her friend back in town for a week from Louisville and where we should take her for dinner on Friday night. I thought about whether or not I should pull her hand out of her coat pocket to hold it, thought about what songs I'll pick for the first CD I make her, and about what I'll say when we finally broach the subject of what to do with our growing affection for each other.
Last night when she excused herself from our table, I texted a friend soliciting advice on whether I should ask the beautiful girl if our night together was a one-time thing or if I should just kiss her. An hour later, after I had driven her home, I read my friend's response and promised myself to try not to over think this, whatever this is or will be tomorrow. "Good advice," I texted back to my friend. She responded, "It's the only kind I give."
I think when people ask me why I don't write anymore it's out of a misinformed sense of kindness, remembering that I perhaps told them once I enjoy it or of my plans to go to grad school for an MFA in fiction. These are generally people who don't know me very well, who don't see me squinting into the light of this screen or twisting at this keyboard, looking for every excuse to stand up from this chair.
The first thing I wrote outside of a school assignment was a note overburdened with really's and very's to a girl named Lisa that my mom found in my jeans pocket when she did laundry. Poems to a girl named Anne in high school. Daily handwritten letters to girl named Jennifer in college. The first eight (eight?) years of this Livejournal to Stephanie, Jaimee, Emily, Meredith, Carrie, Jaimee again, and Mary.
And to the beautiful girl with the beautiful name who kissed me in my car tonight, her thumb tracing lines back and forth on the back of my hand, the one for whom I'd do anything to know what she's thinking when she gets quiet and just smiles at me like that, part of me hopes you find this one day and knows how much, at least for tonight, I really, really like you very, very much; the other part is just trying not to over think it.
Current Music: lay me back down - portugal the man