There are times when I wonder why I am like this, why do I do this, why am I hurting from this, why am I becoming attached, why am I continually looking at you and wishing you could see my thoughts in my eyes, why can I not act straight-forwardly, why do butterflies seizure in my stomach when you catch my glance?
Two-day romances hurt like hell. It’s as if our silent attention towards each other screams that neither of our words proved worthy of remembering when we spilled our minds for three hours past midnight.
Two-day romances have grotesque beauty, like the sight of pepper-blackened clouds encompassing the sea when sun-bathing was on the agenda. The affection pulls you under a riptide, parches your lungs, stabs with novelty, and whirls and cracks your neck through the short days just to slam you against the banister, stifling as you look down off of the 12th-floor balcony.
If I have learned anything from two dark nights of provoking conversation, I have learned that sometimes God sends a young man to be gentle—break the barrier—to whisper notes of hope. His words danced in my ear with a serinade of confidence that straightened my posture.
I don’t recommend romanticizing two days if you think the partner’s intuition does not rage with an equal curiousity, or you cannot endure an ardency that is strong enough to change the tide. If you become encharmed with his dark eyes, melt to the touch, and easily lose breath the next day with one glance, take precaution. A romance that ends starkly within days is not for the faint-hearted, and it is not for me either.