judecorp | I will never forget these words. Ever.

"I look at you and I see the person that I want to be sometimes.
I look at you and I see the person that I am sometimes.
I look at you and I see the person that I want to be with all the time."

And what does this mean for me?

I am awed.
I am amazed.
I am dumbstruck.
I am flabbergasted.

My heart races.
My pulse pounds.
My forehead sweats.
My breath comes in shallow gasps.

How did this happen? Where did it come from? Am I making it up? She tells me what she wants and it is nearly word-for-word what I used to say when I would talk about what I wanted from my relationship with A. She tells me her 'faults' and they are the things that thrill me, both about me and about her. A fault that she packs up and restarts, learns new things? Hardly. A fault that she doesn't know what she wants out of life? Bah. Lovely that she can admit it.

She says she's never met anyone else that appreciates her art the way that I do. How can that be? Are they blind? How can they not be spellbound by the look of intensity, the radiant aura of focus and creativity and magic? I would fill my room with her creations, surround myself with small snippets of what is beautiful and powerful and good in her. And touch them.

I lost the ability to form coherent sentences somewhere in the midst of that phone call. I remember spitting out, "I want a box of photographs that have you in them." I murmured, "I want to make you smile when you are old."

I emailed my mother about her. I told my father about her. My brother wants us together. A friend told her, "I haven't seen you this happy in forever." Three people in two days have said similar things to me: "I've never seen you so happy." "You look so happy." For two days, I have answered, 'How are you?' with 'Great!'

I thought this wasn't supposed to happen to me. I thought alone was my place. I'm not so sure anymore.

I'm scared. So scared. But thrilled. And cautious. And scared.

And I want her to hold me.