What is your favorite memory of me? she asked ….

“Meeting you ,” he said .

The first meeting.

The day where we see someone but they don’t see us .

There essence doesn’t project baggage or insecurity or layers of who and what did me wrong .

The day she was a fantasy of what if’s and maybes and when’s. 

The day he saw her from across the room.

And for the next 52 minutes all he could say was: 

I need to meet her . 

His friend verified she was indeed single .

His friends husband said:  

Don’t fuck it up .

You could see her calves were toned in her low heels.

Not designer heels or stripper stilettos.  

Maybe she was a runner or dancer. 

She definitely worked out . 

Her dress was fitted but not too tight , showing a lean shape with a pop of booty. 

Her face was slightly oily . Botox and makeup free minus the lipgloss and barely there mascara.  

She could have used a little powder. A little blush . But the casual low maintenance beauty showed she  was comfortable in her skin and didn’t need to compete .

Highlights and a flat iron said she cared about her appearance- 

Minus hours in the mirror .

No bouncy beauty queen -glamor shot- salon curls . 

Colored eyes that danced minus the fake lashes.  

If she dressed fancier got some professional makeup –

a few fillers here and there- she could be an 8. 

With a boob job , braces , teeth whitener and some heavy squats- an almost 9.

She was too short to be a 10.

She was a 7.5 with potential- but the kinda girl you wanna marry . 

Sweet and patient. 

Loving and tender. 

The kinda girl you wanna take home to meet your mom.

You wanna laugh and fart with. 

You wanna hide behind the dresser and jump out and scare with .

You wanna look over the ocean and run through the rain with. 

You wanna shop at Costco and eat all the samples with.  

You wanna wipe her tears when she cries.

The kinda girl you want to kiss you on the forehead every morning with .

The kinda girl that you wanna run home to after a night out with the boys with.

Sunday French toast -football and Fabuloso cleaning with. 

It was confirmed: She was single.

So he walked up and said hello. 

They made eye contact. 

Shook hands.

Posed for a picture as comfortable if they had been married 20 years.

Fast forward to eight months of bliss and then real life sets in. The fantasy bubble bursts and her real life – raw demons jump out to play with his.

 The  memory of meeting her plays in his head and tickles his heart on days she is unbearable .

On days she loved  him so hard she suffocated him. 

On days she stopped living her life and waited for him to tell her what to do:  

How do I toast the bread?

How do mop the floor? 

How do I do the laundry?

What do you want for dinner ?

Which salad dressing do you want? 

Potato or rice? 

But when can we talk?

On days she turned from calm to chaotic. 

On days she cried so hard she shook.

She would never be that unknown fantasy girl from across the room again. 

But that love at first sight is what warmed his heart and made him want to protect her.

Love her.

Make her life better . 

Make less days of crying and more days of laughing. 

She was no longer a fantasy. 

She was real.  

And she was his .