It was Sunday. We had been fighting for days. And by now, I couldn't even remember why. We made plans to see a movie, but it seemed much bigger than that. So much time had passed since the last time I saw you.
I was late. And you looked handsome. We made out in the elevator. And you fed me popcorn. I wanted to tell you how I felt, but the timing was off. Instead, when the lights dimmed, I rested my head on your shoulder and remembered the words you told to me that first night, "we fit."
The movie ended. You asked, "What should we do now?"
I reached my arms around your waist and snuck my hands underneath your windbreaker. As we stood in the cold, empty parking lot, next to the elevator, it felt right just to touch you.
"Are you hungry?"
"Yeah… I could eat."
We sat in a diner up the street from your apartment. Some place called Top's. I watched you eat a sandwich, while I picked at your leftovers. When the song came on, you snapped your fingers and sang along. Your face came alive, and you looked different. Like a young boy.
"Give me your hand," I said.
"Why?"
"I'm going to read your palm."
My tiny fingers traced the outline of your perfectly squared off thumb, then I held out my phone and took a picture. We were getting to know each other, and I smiled.
"You resent conformity."
"That's right."
"You are too cautious at times."
"Most people would call me too reckless."
"You have activities, perhaps unhealthy, which you use to escape from reality from time to time."
"Hm."
"You are in, or in the near future will be in, a lasting solid relationship."
That night, we left Top's, and you held my hand as we walked down the hill back to your apartment. It was ours now. The sun had gone down, and the city was buzzing all around. That night, I wanted to tell you everything...