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Thinking about New York… I miss my place. I miss Long Island. I want to go to my old workplace, order blueberry muffins and tea, and just sit at the table by the window and watch the world pass by.
Christmas is almost here, and the New Year is right around the corner. And the end of our ten-week-long agreement will come sooner than we think.
It’s too early to think about it.
So many things could happen until then. I almost think about Kai again when I make an effort and pull away from the idea of him.
Kai Walker.
Hmm… He looked good today. He always looks good.
Whether he’s mad, furious, frustrated, silent, or affectionate. I love him when he’s affectionate… Hmm. I could live with that for a long time.
He turns me on when he’s mad.
He drives me nuts when he’s quiet.
And I hate him when I can’t get into his head.
I’m addicted to his thoughts. I’m a junkie when it comes to his emotions.
Blinking, I push a tear into the water.
How could I love him? I know nothing about him except for the things he has conveniently revealed to me.
How could I tell what makes him happy? I only know what makes him angry.
I know what makes him hot.
But what do I know about him? About his heart? Loving someone is a lifetime commitment and a huge responsibility.
It’s being there for that person and vested in their well-being.
Love, aside from the romanticized version people like to believe in, is a marathon. A journey with ups and downs.
It’s being responsible for yourself and the other person, entrusting your life, emotions, and heart into the other person’s hands.
It’s a celebration, luck, and sometimes it’s unfortunate decay as it lives its life and vanishes after a while. Ideally not.
I don’t know his representation of love. Mine was given to me by my parents. I loved them when they were together.
We were all happy together.
My father was a kind man who made sure my mother and I were safe and protected.
Those were happy times. He liked to spend time with us, put up the Christmas tree, help my mother in the kitchen, and me with my homework.
He liked to tell jokes and hear us laugh.
And there was not one day when I heard him or my mother fight over something or have regrets.
That was my father.
I can’t think of how Kai’s life was with his father. I know there have been issues. Maybe. Maybe those issues have skewed his idea of love.
But why am I talking about that?
Thinking about it makes me uncomfortable.
