To my gent,
I think it was the rough catch of your voice.
All I wanted was to open my mouth and say such pretty words you would understand how wonderful it was to just be there.
Yes, there you were, just talking, about how men are statistically more colorblind then women and that women could also possibly see hundreds of more colors then men.
It was our first conversation alone, in person. All the nights on the phone, video chats, type through the computer screen were about ourselves, sharing information.
I remember thinking “How bizarre but completely interesting” that you chose that topic out of all the topics in the world. I remember what I wore, how we sat.
I remember how much you would squint those first days we spent together. Later, meeting your parents understanding how much you hate contacts, your mother told me to try and convince you they were easier.
I remember the first time we held hands. My mother was in the front seat of the car, she had insisted, after a friend had backed out, that she come to the airport with me to pick you up. She was asking you so many questions. I was in shock you were real. I still kind of am every time you come around the corner or into sight. Like the months we don’t see each other would make you unreal again. I just reached out and took your hand squeezing it.
I remember how wonderful it was. I hope to see you soon.
Your kind of woman,