June 15, 2002
Una Besita
Guess who got kissed?
Ian. Yep. He got kissed. And I did the kissing.
I just couldn't wait for him to not do it. And he wasn't going to. He was going to let me get out of the car without bidding me a proper fourth date farewell. Even after letting me squash him in the Scrambler today. Even after riding the ferris wheel twice and giggling. Even after he told me I was making a Space Balls-esque Rick Moranis face on the various spinning rides.
Even after teaching me to waltz in the parking lot, Frank Sinatra's voice coming from the open windows of his car.
Excuse me while deep, delighted sighs escape my throat.
Maybe I shouldn't have kissed him. Maybe I should have. But he is the only boy, the only boy, that I have ever met who is so perfect, so gentlemanly, so rich in personality and intellect, and yet treats me as though I were equally as worthy of a girl. And maybe I am. Who the hell knows.
Maybe I shouldn't have kissed him. Maybe I should have.
He is worthy. He is a delight. He sang along with Frank Sinatra in the car and I talked to him about John Mayer and Pablo Neruda. We've decided we're both going to have warped children in the future, with noteworthy names, and make them trilingual and good-music-listeners from a very young age. We talked about reincarnation and snapshots of time and living in eighteenth century homes. We speculated.
He smiled after I had kissed him. Just a quick kiss, a goodbye kiss in leu of the fact that he did not do so. So brief.
He smiled after I had kissed him. He made a pleasant little sound in his throat.
He's so young and yet so old at the same time.
Has he ever met anybody like me? Are college girls much smarter than I am? More interesting? Prettier?
Has he ever dated anybody like me? Would he want to?
Should I have kissed him?
He smiled.
astera at 7:12 p.m.