well…that’s a first
two first encounters that couldn't be more different
I miss the first exchange—
when they walk straight toward you,
eyes already saying more than words ever will.
That first look when you finally meet,
the breath held between arrival and touch.
The anticipation before it all begins,
your nerves flickering with what might unfold.
I ache for that initial dance of energy—
when everything feels breakable.
Each word, a careful offering.
Each touch, featherlight with possibility.
Scared, but drawn in.
The first time you hear how they sound.
How they smell—
whether they’ve chosen a fragrance
or simply let the day cling to them.
And how my body responds
in the quiet moment
our ecosystems collide.
This might sound trite,
but that first encounter—
charged with mystery,
delicate and electric—
holds a kind of magic
that lingers long after words fade.
But today,
I stepped into another first—
an ecosystem already woven without me.
A different kind of meeting,
where the rhythm was strange, unfamiliar,
and everything I said
was met with puzzled glances—
like I was speaking in riddles
no one quite had the code for.
Still, there was something—
an openness,
a space made to hear me out—
and in that strange contrast,
I found a new kind of fascination.
I couldn’t help but wonder
how people who walk the same streets,
breathe the same air,
could arrive at such different truths.
Sometimes I feel like an anthropologist,
quietly studying the rituals,
marveling at how unfamiliar familiar things can be.
How did we get so far apart?
What I said felt obvious.
Plain.
If you aren’t ready for C,
then wouldn’t you take A and B
just to be sure?
But maybe that’s the strange beauty of it—
that people who seem so similar
can arrive at entirely different conclusions,
and still make space
to hear where you’re coming from.
Maybe that’s part of the thrill—
not knowing,
not planning,
but stumbling into something real anyway.
Learning, slowly,
that love—like life—
is rarely about sameness,
but about choosing curiosity
again and again.