How To Fall Back In Love With Someone

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I never thought I wouldn’t be in love with you. I don’t know how or when it happened. Somehow in the middle of the heat and the hustle it faded away like paint on the walls. It’s not until we take down the pictures that we see what the color used to look like. We see how much has changed. We wonder where it went. We sit and wait for it to return because we’re hopeful because we have to be.

And I thought it would be big. I thought there would be fireworks and foreign countries and oceans with open arms. I figured when I fell in back in love with you there would be glimmering lights and racing hearts and words I’d remember forever. We think this is how it’s supposed to happen, but (thankfully) life isn’t a Matthew Mcconaughey movie. We won’t run from different directions until we collapse into each other’s arms on a bridge at sunset with the most perfect violet sky to the west. We won’t kiss in the rain or storm into churches or yell from a window five stories up.

Instead we’ll be in a car you rented on a Sunday afternoon to move things to your apartment. I’m hungover and trying not to look it, while you’re driving along the lake playing a song on the radio that I’ve never heard before. And still it reminds me of something. It reminds me of winters spent kissing in the dark and summers passed sitting on back porches. It reminds me of sidewalks and stairways and wind on my cheeks. It reminds me of us when we were great. I don’t know the song and I don’t ask you what it is because I don’t want to listen to it later because then it’ll be different. It won’t ever be what it is right now, so I close my eyes and melt into it while the sun splashes across my face.

I’m falling back in love with you, but you don’t know it yet, and somehow I’m still saying the wrong things. I want to tell you that everything will be alright, that we’ll be ok now, but I’m saying it wrong, and you’re still upset. You’ve been like this for months, and I’m trying to do better and failing to do better. I wanted a fix like a thunderstorm or an earthquake or something to show you what you mean to me.

But I didn’t get an earthquake. All I got was a bar at 1:30 am that happened to be playing our songs. The drinks were cheap and strong, and we were talking about the chaos in the world while everything in the room around us glowed and pulsed. Beat for beat, your hand in mine, and we took it to the floor where could dance and spill our drinks and forget the rest. I didn’t know what you were thinking then, and I didn’t know how to ask, but as we said good night in front of an idling cab against a sparkling city that didn’t care what time it was, I’m pretty sure I knew how to fall back in love with someone.

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