It’s interesting — for lack of better term — how you can meet someone and it all just clicks.
One day, you’re sitting at a bar, trading questions over drinks from which you are undoubtedly trying to pick up personality cues.
“A Moscow mule, huh? Hard liquor and ginger beer on the first date? I like it.”
Another day, you’re lying on the hard cement surrounding his pool, cuddling on a towel as if it’s memory foam, and looking up at the stars. Because, even though he doesn’t understand your fascination with them, he thinks it’s the most adorable thing about you and will risk the impending back pain just to hear you gush over galaxies and constellations.
Months later, you’re enthralled in his crisp, white sheets every opportune moment making the kind of love that makes rolling molly feel like table salt. Making the kind of love that makes you late for work three days in one week. Making the kind of love so good, you have no control over the giggles bubbling up from your core as soon as it’s over and you’re lying in some sort of sweaty euphoria together.
A few nights in particular, you share a pillow and whisper for hours — about coffee, and pornography, and your individual dreams, and children, and those stars you love so much, and changing the world, and changing each other’s world, and changing his sheets.
And you’re in love.
You’re so in love.
And you’re falling
And one day, it all just clicks — for lack of better term — again.
It clicks back to what it was before. Before the stars and the sheets and the first date drinks. Before love gently surrounded your pretty little auras. Before the fall.
And you wonder how it got like that. And you desperately try to find whatever celestial button you can push to rewind your lives and figure out where it all went wrong. You desperately try to puzzle piece your way back, to force the click.
But you can’t.
And I haven’t quite figured out the lesson here. But, I think it may be that there is only one on and off button in these little heavens we create in other people. And once it’s turned on, it can only be turned off. And once it’s turned off, it’s off for good.
Until the next set of pretty eyes and clever words and crisp white sheets comes walking in. And everything just clicks again.