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July 25, 2012

I miss him. I miss him not.

I miss him a lot.


So I dated him for a month.

During this period of time, we had dinner, watched movies, went to the park, and held hands together.  On the last two times, we slept together.

On the first date, which was on a summer raining night, I was running terribly late and hopped between two subways and walked briskly to the little Japanese bar, where he has been waiting for almost forty minutes.

I remember pasting him coming out of the door to meet me as I was rustling in, and in that parallel moment as I saw his face, I was swiped away off my feet, like a flower petal floating down the river after a thunderstorm, every inch of me was inexplicitly drawn to him.

He looked dashingly handsome in an unaware subtle manner.

He felt like an old familial friend.

Throughout the next few weeks, we texted and saw each other.  On the second ad third date, I remember how his eyes lit up as he saw me, and feeling his desire as he hugged and kissed me on the cheek.  As I stayed over that night, I remember touching his face, and imitating him wearing his glasses, and him hugging me tightly.  It was fun.  And he was happy.

My favorite moments were when we talked on the phone.  In that summer night, as I meandered around the neighborhood, stepping on leaves freshly knocked off by rain, picking out vegetables and fruits from an outdoor grocery store, and walking back to the apartment in a quiet night, he was on the phone, chatting with me in Chinese, and telling me about his unfinished working of the day.  And I in return, asked him to tell me small events in that day that made him happy, and described excitedly in detail the ingredients that I was using as I cooked.  As usual, I love staying up late.  In the night hours while everyone is sleeping, stars have quietly appeared, and even the wind became softer and mellower, I love dancing and briskly moving around, doing errands, grocery shopping, cooking, writing, and reading.  The whole world was asleep and I am the nocturnal creature, free and alive.  And when I spoke to him on the phone, I shared that with him.

He said he missed me.

And he said he returned to the city.

He said I was over dramatic.

And he couldn’t rescue me.

And he said it would be nice to be friends, but don’t think it will work out.

I asked doesn’t he miss my silliness.

And I shared my dreams with him.

I know why he backed off.

But he didn’t understand it was only temporary, or it seemed for the singular event.

In reality, of course, he didn’t really know me.

Yet in an explainable way, he felt old an old familial friend to me.


From → Love

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