In Protected

Electric

I didn’t bring my laptop, so I’m writing this from my phone. I never write on my phone. I love hearing the keys click as I type. But I’ve been thinking a lot, and the best way for me to stop thinking is if I just write it all out.

I need to know. Was it electric?

I finished another book yesterday. Maybe my 18th of the year. And in the book she described it as electric. As tingles coming down her spine. As blood rushing to her cheeks. As feeling like she got struck by lightening.

And it makes me wonder, was it electric?

The end certainly wasn’t. It was crushing and painful. It was walking on thin ice and trying to stay afloat. It was lumberjacks keeping balance while running on a spinning log. Exhausting. Hurtful. And sad. That’s not electric.

Maybe in the beginning it was?

Well not really. In the very very beginning it wasn’t even on my radar. I deleted your messages. I ignored your calls. I pretty much forgot you existed. Everything was about someone else, so how could you be electric when you couldn’t even be part of it?

So like, the part in between? Did it start being electric then?

Even then I don’t know. It was real before it was ever electric. It was right in front of me before I could call attention to what happened. I fell in love with you before I even had the chance to really choose you. You were my person without me ever trying to plan it that way.

Then perhaps it wasn’t at all electric. Not in the ways they describe it in the books. Not in the ways that make you want to pinch yourself because you think you’re dreaming.

Still I’d like to believe there were sparks. Little bursts of electricity when you first plug something in.

Like the time I asked if you could buy me ice cream, and you bought me four kinds because you didn’t know which one I’d like. So you bought them all in the hopes I’d like one of them.

Or our first kiss in your car. When you still had Papa Smurf. You asked a few days prior. You asked if that’d be ok. Then when you picked me up and we were stopped at the red light, you asked if that was an ok moment. It was a great moment.

There was the time I didn’t see you for a week because my dad was with me. Then finally I drove him to the airport to fly back home, and we passed you on your way to my house. Back to the house where I’d walk through the door and you’d be home.

Even when we played games or watched movies or sat on the couch. Little moments of sparks flying. Collections of electricity.

Though I think we were doomed to begin with. We could never be electric when already we just needed to be. To be with one another when nothing else in the world made sense.

I’d take together over electric any day.

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