Too Good To Be True

medicasian:

He was logical. To a point. He felt mellow, and our first date was filled with all sorts of wonderful. We met for the first time, but it felt like the hundredth. I put on my contact lenses, tried my hardest to add up to the most attractive my genetics would allow me too. We talked, we shared; we laughed, and I thought he cared. I remember videoing him try VR for the first time – the deliberateness of every turn, the elegant clumsiness, the distinct purposefulness. I was enthralled by him, as much of the audience at the Windows store were. His voice was low and melodic. His laugh was reserved but earnest. He was also much more muscular than any person I had ever met – and it seemed so strange to me that someone like him could like someone like me.

We watched a movie that time. His friend came, and even in such a public place – the first meeting even – we held hands. I lay my head on his shoulder. He squeezed gently, and I squeezed his soft pianist hands back. He seemed too good to be true – someone rational to balance out my emotional. A rock in the adverse stream of the life of a medical resident. He was so well-grounded, and although I didn’t realize it, I was lost adrift in a sea of his quiet charisma.

That night, we also went karaoke. There was musical chemistry I had never known could exist. I remember the softness of his lips when we parted ways. The bitterness of departure with the spice of passion and the guarantee that we would meet again.

The next day, I flew back to the east coast: a thousand miles away from him. We knew long distance was unreasonable, but we kept in contact – as a representation of the intensity and tangibility of our chemistry and friendship. Over the months, we traded songs – I sang covers for him, which I have never sung for others. He shared his piano musings with me. A distant part of me wondered – perhaps things could work out. Perhaps the irrationality of love will turn the impossible to the possible.

And then I returned to him, 4 months later. We went on our second real date. He was friendly – despite the similarities to the first, there was a very perceivable change. He remained logical to a point. The pointedness seemed sharper than I remembered. His smile was still the warm rumbling baritone laughter I remembered – but did it always contain the hint of awkwardness behind it? During the movie, my leg touched his; my hand beckoned for a soft touch that never came. I was bewildered; but, that was a lie – I was wildered, and knew that the inevitable, the logical, the rational was upon my fate. I hoped I was wrong. We went karaoke again – the musical chemistry remained, but his affect belied the harmony of our voices. I knew at that point it would likely be our last date. The promises of our first fiery encounter fell like petals to the wind.

“So there’s this guy I think I kinda like.”

“Oh? That’s great! I guess then maybe you’re not going to come visit in March?”

“I don’t know… but…”

And so it was. Too good to be true. And now I wait alone, an hour bus ride away from home on a dark rainy Sunday, drowning in the tattered disillusionment of my hope for love.

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