- Bike tour in Oregon
- Weekend in Vegas
- Twilight Concert Series
- Sliding Rock
- Tube the Provo River
- Mona tire swing
- Make ice cream (kofe)
- Mexican dancing (with my neighbors in Magna)
- Bonfire (on the beach or in the canyon)
- Spiral jetty
- Chemistry love photo shoot
- Garden (tomatoes, basil)
- Camping (Arches, Goblin Valley)
- Make arroz con leche
- Sunday dinner with friends
- Book club
- Crepe night
- ice blocking
- Triathalon
- 5k with mom
- Bookshelf build
- Random acts of kindness for neighbors
- Community art (random eyes on objects, colormekatie inspired project)
- Temple tour (visit all the temples in Utah)
- Eat at roadside taco stand
Friday, March 16, 2012
Summer Time
I like having fun in the summer, so I made a list of things to do and will be keeping track of everything with subsequent blog posts:
Monday, January 30, 2012
Expectations
I don't know why I expected him to look different. As if somehow all the changes I had felt would somehow be portrayed in his face, the way he walked, some physical manifestation in him. And as we stood awkwardly positioned between the masses of passing students, I could help but notice his teeth.
Clean, but still stained a pale yellow with years of soda pop and gatorade, straight with distinct gaps between his top front teeth. I think I had to focus on his teeth to realize that he hadn't change. And to resist the overwhelming urge I had to hug him.
His laugh was the same, his coat, his smell still wafted temptingly towards me. I had to finger the ring on my left hand to remind myself-- even if he hadn't changed, things had changed.
"Don't hug him, don't hug him, don't hug him," I had to replay my commitment mentally to get the strength to physically resist.
Five years is a long time. You don't date that long without having a flood of memories assault you when you see someone after a month of absence. Dark nights, couches, fumbling in the dark. Early mornings, running, leg weights. Exotic flavors mingled with heavy beats keeping you moving on a dance floor. Millions of memories, but necessarily words. And yet his mouth kept moving and I still couldn't pull my eyes away from his teeth.
His eyes were too dangerous, those eyelashes would get me in a minute, and I knew it. On our first date, when he was still fresh in America and could barely speak English, he spoke with those eyelashes. Years later, when he was "teaching me Spanish" he used them again. Sitting side by side on my living room couch evolved quickly into laying on top of each other as he mesmerized me with those eyelashes. No, I couldn't risk looking at those eyes.
And I couldn't look down. I couldn't look at his hands. Those hands knew the weak spots around my hips. Those hands which had mapped the contours of my face and body countless times. I knew if I looked at his hands I would be tempted to hold them in mine.
So instead I fidgeted furiously with my hand again. I don't love him anymore. Yet, I will always love him. I will always have loved him, but now I am in love with someone else. And I was late to class.
Risking everything, I glanced into his eyes and said goodbye.
Clean, but still stained a pale yellow with years of soda pop and gatorade, straight with distinct gaps between his top front teeth. I think I had to focus on his teeth to realize that he hadn't change. And to resist the overwhelming urge I had to hug him.
His laugh was the same, his coat, his smell still wafted temptingly towards me. I had to finger the ring on my left hand to remind myself-- even if he hadn't changed, things had changed.
"Don't hug him, don't hug him, don't hug him," I had to replay my commitment mentally to get the strength to physically resist.
Five years is a long time. You don't date that long without having a flood of memories assault you when you see someone after a month of absence. Dark nights, couches, fumbling in the dark. Early mornings, running, leg weights. Exotic flavors mingled with heavy beats keeping you moving on a dance floor. Millions of memories, but necessarily words. And yet his mouth kept moving and I still couldn't pull my eyes away from his teeth.
His eyes were too dangerous, those eyelashes would get me in a minute, and I knew it. On our first date, when he was still fresh in America and could barely speak English, he spoke with those eyelashes. Years later, when he was "teaching me Spanish" he used them again. Sitting side by side on my living room couch evolved quickly into laying on top of each other as he mesmerized me with those eyelashes. No, I couldn't risk looking at those eyes.
And I couldn't look down. I couldn't look at his hands. Those hands knew the weak spots around my hips. Those hands which had mapped the contours of my face and body countless times. I knew if I looked at his hands I would be tempted to hold them in mine.
So instead I fidgeted furiously with my hand again. I don't love him anymore. Yet, I will always love him. I will always have loved him, but now I am in love with someone else. And I was late to class.
Risking everything, I glanced into his eyes and said goodbye.
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