Thursday, February 26th

I first met you in the flesh in an Irish bar. Or, on the sidewalk outside the bar. We walked straight toward each other from opposite ends of the block, and I could tell from half a block away that I would be overwhelmed by looking in your face. Your white hair gleamed and your eyes were sharp above your cheekbones, beaming at me, smile wide and direct and straight on. It was loaded. I couldn't look back. I rushed through the last 10 feet, looking over your shoulder to get through, and put my arms around your to to hold myself down. You were delighted. You called me a hugger, later, the many times you remembered the moment. You said that he knew I was good for you then, when you realized that I was a hugger.

But I'm not always a hugger, which you learned later. I hugged you, and on first sight. I hug people I like, many when I'm happy, but I don't always hug everyone. I love that you loved that about me, and I think I love it more because the hug grew in part from fear. You turned it into something purely loving. I'll take that now. I felt false about it before, in the first years of knowing you. But now I think that's what happens, with love. Things grow, between people and across years. I don't feel false about it now. I hugged you because I'm a hugger.

We had a good meal in the Irish bar. You were courteous and very careful. You asked at one point if you were boring me as you talked about your work, something about medical products delivered to bleeding soldiers in the field. You were definitely not, as I didn't find bleeding soldiers boring, and I was sincerely listening. I was learning. I told you this, also sincerely, and you seemed sincerely relieved. You seemed not to have been sure that my liberal writer self would take a deep interest in military things. I might not have, if you'd not been sincere. But I felt myself wrapped in the topic, studying it, and I liked it. You had places within you that I could go and I could find new things.

At the end of the meal we stood up from the table, and you considered me carefully. I considered you back. You leaned toward me in a sure steady move and kissed me on my mouth. Warm lips, soft, firm on mine. You leaned out and considered me again. I looked back, a little less considered, a little more put in motion. And we turned like comfortable companions to go.

You and I talked much more that night, but one thing I will mention now. You said, "I like you. A LOT. I want to have a RELATIONSHIP with you." A therapist once described that as a red flag, that you said this to me in the first hours. I know the abstract analysis of why she  said it. But it doesn't matter. I know it was a green flag instead.

I love you. Good night. It's 10:34.