Almost five months ago I documented an event in this journal that I saw as being a mere event, an occurance, a random and harmless mark on the timeline of my adulthood. A man kissed me in a bar. He made me feel desirable for one evening. I stared at the ceiling all night and wondered what it meant. And I tried to talk myself out of thinking too much. It wouldn't happen again. It was nice. He wouldn't visit. It was so nice. But you wouldn't hate him if he didn't call again.
But it was really nice.
And it's still really nice. Understatement. Everything is understatement these days. My vocabulary seems weak and unimpressive, my once agressive gait has turned to a lighter stroll, accented by bounces and flicks as my heels and my toes burst with excitement against the lining of my tennis shoes. I feel taller. I feel lighter.
He won't skip this entry because it's all about him.
I never would have been able to predict this. Happiness in the world is completely imbalanced tonight. It's all mine.
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