I BELIEVE THAT THINGS HAPPEN FOR A REASON.

There is an idea that nothing is truly ours to own or possess. What we have has been borrowed or taken, and eventually, we know not when or to who, we will have to give it back.

But this idea is larger than simply material possessions. Perhaps it includes both people and time. People walk into our lives every day, some who we know and others who we have not met. But there is no forever. No one is ours to claim or to keep. We can love them for as long we can, but at some point we have to let them go. They are loaned to us for a greater purpose, although at present we know not why. They will influence us in a way that no one else can and bring us a greater sense of self-awareness. They will open our eyes to something new, and when we have received their message, they are no longer ours to hold. They will slip seamlessly through our fingers.

Yet we can take comfort in the fact that there is a cycle and an order. That everything happens for a reason, and we are better for the process.

A few months ago I went on a date with a boy in my neighborhood. He spoke in Spanish and had the loveliest baby face. We met along the Hudson. It was humid, and I could feel the sweat bubbles forming underneath my eyes and on my upper lip. I was self-conscious. Anxious. It was the week of a million breakouts. My face was blotchy, red, and dry. I should've have put on that cream. I should have let it take its natural course.

It was an hour of applying coverup before I was satisfied. I didn't want to go. I wanted to cancel. But I also wanted to meet this boy. Our texts had been sarcastic and witty. Playful and flirty. I didn't want to be disappointed. I didn't want him to be disappointed. So I went.

It was the evening but not dark enough to cover the fear on my face. I wasn't myself. I didn't want him to look at my me. What a strange first impression I must have made. Makeup slipping down my cheeks. I tried not to touch it. I'm sure this all seems terribly vain, but it is a very superficial world. I wish it wasn't.

But we talked, walked, and laughed. Sarcasm bouncing between us. And mid-kiss (there were a lot of really great kisses), he shared with me that beautiful idea. I made him repeat it again and again. And then again in Spanish, the words rolling off of his tongue. It felt like magic. I wish he had written it down.

He never asked me on a second date after that. I'm not surprised. I was not myself.

I thought of this idea two nights ago, waiting for my guy-of-the-moment (M) to text, disappointed that he hadn't. I wondered if maybe the two dates with M were all it was supposed to be. I did feel more confidant from having met him. Confidant in my charm and comfortable with my body. This thought made me less anxious about the future. More excited about the present.

So in a moment of loneliness, I reached out to baby face.

The next day I saw him in the coffee shop next to my building. I was in a really good place, confident and tan. Seeing him gave me closure. I don't yet understand what this unexpected encounter means, and maybe I never will. All I know is that he gave me this perfect thought. And maybe that is enough.

It was fear that found me there

by the river.
I covered up my face
in laughter,
clever and cautious,
stemming from
a voice, internal.
Infernal,
the battle,
so self-sabotaging.

And the sarcasm,
It stuck to my lips like honey,
flushed in the peak of flirtation.
And anxiety,
stepping past sincerity,
It hit all the right notes.

With the opening
of the sky,
and us, wrapped in rain,
you shared a perfect Thought,
circular and soft.

It's the one
I repeat
now in my mind.
Eyes blinded,
your words, ephemeral.
Not mine.

But to remember
is not the same
as the wind
and your fingers,
brushing
across
the
crest
of my wrist.
Rainy smiles.
Intentionally,
my hips met yours.

Now, no longer
pretending,
in the sun,
in the silence,
only the itch remains.