happy late anniversary

I remember in my twenties when we were trying to figure out who was gonna marry whom, and we thought, I wonder, I wonder if I'm gonna marry that kid who sat behind me in homeroom or that geek from algebra. And I remember after my high school reunion, after Facebook became a way for old school chums to ask you out, wondering if that fate was going to be mine. 

The jock I never remembered talking to.

The skater I definitely never talked to. 

Not that either of them became great love affairs. 

In fact, the date with the skater was the time he walked me back to my car and I fell. 

No. Face planted. Right on the concrete. 

It was the most ridiculously embarrassingly awesome date moment.

And then I never heard from him again. 

And think of all the jokes we could have made about how I first fell for him. 

What a waste of my ineptitude with basic coordination. 

Life likes to do that. 

Cycle back to the same characters.

Not the ones you want or certainly not the times you expect. 

This week I realized it had been a full year since the best first date ever which seemed incredibly bizarre. 

(That was really an entire year ago?)

And yet it did feel like a lifetime ago. 

I certainly didn't feel like the same girl. 

But still, when I woke up this morning to a text from him, and half awake, read the words I hope you're lighting up the sky with your smile, it didn't seem so far away. 

That time. 

That time he told me I had the brightest smile he'd ever seen.

And that same day, or eve, rather, tonight, another ghost crossed my phone. 

A guy I was supposed to meet a month or maybe two ago, but who stood me up. 

And there he suddenly was on my phone, messaging me a novel of explanation. 

And he wanted to know if I'd give him another chance and meet him for coffee. 

And I replied, Why the fuck not.

Because. 

Truly. 

Clearly, the people I think are supposed to be in this story aren't always the ones who make sense because sometimes things don't make sense. 

Sometimes people still think of you.

And you have no idea. 

Except for those moments, those unexpected moments it isn't your mom texting you.

It's him.

Some guy whose not done being a part of your story. 

Because he knows it's not finished.