Date rush

It’s almost scary how fast everything had happened. But lying in his arms brought me comfort, brought me back from the desert of dried dates. He flirted well, effortlessly and with motion. He was handsome, better looking than the pictures he had set up on his little social media page. When his hand first reached across the table and lingered a tiny bit too long on mine, I squeezed it a tad, to let him know I didn’t mind the touch, rather welcomed it. Then, when he moved from his side of the table to mine, the poise in me burst. Feeling his arm wrapped around my waist, the other holding my face in place and staring into my eyes with intensity and passion, if I could see correctly with my hazed mind. 

The few drinks downed at the Irish pub were starting to take a toll on me, I realised as I was walking with him to my favourite bar, explaining to him how I knew the way there, but I just didn’t remember it. It’s been a good date, I said as he looked down at me smiling. He had also enjoyed the night, he told me, as he shot a nasenbluten. He cringed. I like the sour taste, I exclaimed. The bartender had a laugh as my date downed what was left of his sour, shitty shot. My cheeks are hurting from smiling so much today, I told him as he was playing with the paper beer mat they give at the bar. You don’t smile too often, do you? He asked with a gentle look in his eyes. No I don’t. But today I have. 

I’m not a light-weight, he argued and proceeded to ask if he may rest his head on my shoulder as he drunkenly sat on the metro station’s floor, leaning on some construction wall which clearly states not to put any weight on it in a language that we don’t speak. The night had been full of dancing, and he had finally dared to kiss me. I think he’s a little bit scared of me.

When he fell asleep in my arms, I felt worthwhile. He felt safe enough in my arms to sleep, he felt protected and snug enough, to put himself in a vulnerable position in my arms. I couldn’t sleep on my own, so I just laid there, sometimes gazing at his beautiful sleeping face. He looked peaceful in my arms.

I’m afraid of you, he said. No, that’s what I was supposed to say, I laughed. But it’s true, he confessed. I’m afraid of what you could do to me, to my heart, I continued. You’re dangerous as well, he replied. 

And then we were there, sitting on the artificial rock made out of recycling material glued together with concrete water mix. The dogs were confused. Why were we crying?