i met you.

I've been dreading this entry because as I'm writing it I'm still in my grieving process (may 2024). Ironically enough I had written our story down as it unfolded, so it should be easy to lay it out here. And if you are reading this (you know who you are), know that this is my experience of our relationship and I hope you find joy in the simple truth: it happened as it was meant to.

I’ve always been told I have a “type”, white, long greasy hair, skater boy looking, goofy. It came as no surprise when I saw him for the first time I was completely stunned. He wore a blue hoodie, his hair long, parted in the middle, and just the right amount of disarray. A perfect throwback to the 90’s. I introduced myself that night but his disinterest was clear, so I let it go and moved on.

Cut to March 17^th, the night I decided to send him a message. It sat unanswered for a couple of days, until, out of the blue, I reacted to one of his rare social media posts. His reply? A comment as anarchic as it was intriguing. It made me want to know more about what he had to say. Little did I know how chaotic this would turn. Our conversations unfolded in the quiet hours of the night when insomnia led us to one another. We’d chat about everything from our favorite drinks to classic South Park episodes.

The first time we actually hung out was when his then-girlfriend decided to throw a small get-together for Cinco de Mayo, where, I, of course, made sarcastic remarks about how hard it must be for him to be a straight cis white man. But the night was short-lived; I had to leave early to meet Matt, a cute tattooed Brit I had met weeks before. Though nothing transpired between Matt and me that night, I stayed with him until dawn.

Days passed before Ryan and I began hanging out more regularly. Our first real night out was on a Friday I had off, but I started my weekend early, Thursday night. I had managed to get myself and a “plus one” on a guest list for a club, and Ryan was the obvious choice. I’d already developed a silly crush on him. He met me around midnight, and we danced, drank, and spoke about his faltering relationship. What seemed like good news to me became the spark for something that always lingered in my thoughts. After the night ended, we returned to my place, where he schooled me on indie music in that melancholic, cool-boy way. He spilled a beer all over himself—and my couch. As I helped him dry off, I said, “You’re not driving home tonight. Crash here.” He hesitated but agreed when I promised to wash his shirt. I let him borrow one of mine, still remembering how effortlessly good he looked in my ecru and white striped t-shirt. I threw his Mac Miller shirt in the wash, and the night ended.

The next morning, I forgot to put his shirt in the dryer, and he ended up wearing mine to work. In the days that followed, we crossed paths a few more times, but he always forgot to return my shirt. And I made sure to forget, too. I didn’t mind. I liked it. I even wore it to work a couple times.

As the months passed, my dating life became a series of casual nights with men who brought the party, while I brought the play. It wasn’t the most fulfilling chapter, but it was something. Because, truth be told, I felt alone. But then I met Kevin. I can’t tell Ryan’s story without weaving in Kevin’s, but that’s a tale for another time. Kevin meant something different to me. What I will say now is that my relationship with Kevin was open. We both agreed that dating and sleeping with other people was okay. I know, how Denver of me diving into ENM.