When we first started to talk I was new to you. I was younger. A white girl from a small town. You were this great older guy that came out of nowhere. I know where things began. I know the decisions I made. I knew the things I said. I knew the secrets I kept. You told me your life; the nightlife, the party, the steady line of girls.

You shared with me. Told me I was different. Our hearts have grown closer. I feel cared for like no other. We laugh, we joke, and we make fun of each other. We text, we call, and Instagram like no other. You love to explore and I love to travel. You said let's go, we'll spend a weekend together.

You texted me first. Said, hey it's ____. I smiled and wondered, want have I done to the others. I hardly know you, but that's fine, it's cool. You're new to me. I'm new to you. You tell me about shopping, your sister, brother, and travelling. You love the beach, the shore, and wish you could spend there all summer. You go drinking, and party, and have told me your regrets. You trust me with your secrets, even the ones you drunkenly text.

I laugh at the misspellings and extra letters in words, but that's alright because in the morning you find it absurd. "I've almost got a college degree and misspell the word 'you've'." We laugh and laugh until you ask me to meet. You're serious. I can tell. I feel confident in me. I said, yes, of course, definitely.

We talk some more, but don't mention the meet because we know if we do we could disrupt the beat. We have a steady rhythm of you and me. I push it forward to see what will take. You come out saying you can't wait to chat. You share. You plan. Your imperfections shine through. You offer me a drink. "Do you like wine?" I say, "I do..."

Then we take the edge off, and sip and, as we do, we realize that what we want takes time and no amount of wine, time, or cleverly spoken lines will help our futures better align.