I have been meaning to write about you.
I wanted to begin with that night we sat beneath the stars talking about anything under the sun as if I’ve known you all my life, forgetting the fact that all I know was that face, that voice, and that it was the first time we’ve actually spoken.
I would have loved to chronicle that night like I have done so easily and so many times before of people who left me in awe. I would have written about how breathtaking the sunrise looked when I saw it rising for the first time in a long time, and you were singing that old George Harrison line and I chimed in with a smile.
I’d like to write about that night when I first asked you to join us for drinks. How hesitant I was, greatly expecting rejection but then I saw you there standing at the top of the stairs with a warm and friendly smile plastered upon your beautiful face.
There was also that night when I watched you play the guitar and listen to you sing for the first time. I wanted to put into paper how you have nestled such melody, harmony, and heart in those songs that I remembered closing my eyes instead to just feel the sound gently electrify me.
I remember, oh so clearly, that night where we stood beside each other at the record store looking for Bowie, but found a little too many Jefferson Starship records instead. I wanted to write about that, how closely we stood and how we marveled at the cover designs we saw.
I mused about that same night when I asked you to take my photo. You took one too many and captured a certain me I barely recognized: a me that was genuinely happy.
I have been dying to pour out that night into paper since it happened, I wanted to write about how the lights gleamed and we wondered why they looked prettier when we squint. I wanted to share how perfect it was and how I never wanted to change one bit of it, especially how it ended. How you stood there with the car waiting for you and you hugged me a little too tight than I ever expected you’d do.
I have been meaning to write about the times I’d replay the scenarios in my head, how my hand ached to write about the sound of your laugh and the way you speak and think.
They were so vivid, I was sure I could have written a poem, or two, maybe even twenty-two.
But alas, the inspiration and the words, they would always elude me as soon as I think about you.
I guess tonight is a lucky night as I finally caught up with my thoughts.
You are one complicated piece of art.
I may have found the courage to write about you although still not quite.