He thinks my body only responds to him. Maybe he knows that it doesn’t, but he likes to convince me that he is the one that God fashioned me to fit. It’s a sweet sentiment but it reeks of his insecurity. It’s almost with the innocence of a middle school romance how we date. My girlfriends are envious of our friendship but he seems to sell me everything I need for a weekend and home and nothing I need for a career, a life, or a future. He sends me text messages on my phone at 7:30 each morning because he desires to be the first person I hear from. Though he is not the captain of the football team type, I must admit, he plays me. He’s smart, he studies my every move. Knows the details of my dreams and then offers them back to me in my own words. I thought I would love it, thought I wanted someone to listen so carefully that he could not lose my words.
He says I’m his first love. I believe part of that. I am the first he loved but we are not in love. We were in… joy. We spent late afternoons on the bed arm wrestling and reminiscing about TV shows in the 80’s. He remembers the theme song to Different Strokes and Facts of Life, you’ve gotta love a man that sings something like that.
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