icebluenothing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
icebluenothing) wrote2005-02-14 10:33 pm
icebluenothing) wrote2005-02-14 10:33 pm
Entry tags:
Ahna.
Let me tell you about this girl I know.
There was a comics store I used to go to in the U-District called Arcadia. On one of my visits, I was struck by the girl who was working there. She seemed smart, charming, and friendly. She was knowledgeable about the comics she was selling, suggesting other titles I might like based on what I was looking at. Her sense of style was strong and idiosyncratic. She was beautiful, in every sense I could mean that.
I almost immediately wrote her off as someone I would never get to know. She was, frankly, way too cool for me. And as much I would have loved to ask her out for coffee or something, I figured that, in her position, she probably got enough customers hitting on her already, and I didn't want to be just another asshole. If you've ever developed a stupid little crush on a barista or a bookstore clerk or someone like that, you know what I'm talking about.
But anyway. I kept coming back to that little store; kept making excuses to drop by. Most times, she wasn't there, but sometimes she was. I saw her maybe two or three more times, until one day I dropped by the store and it wasn't there any more.
I was an idiot. I could have at least found out her name.
This story could have ended here. That's how life is supposed to work, at least. There are no second chances. Everyone tells you that.
A couple years passed. I mentioned this girl I used to see to a new friend of mine, and she said, "Oh, you mean Ahna. I know her -- I can introduce you sometime."
It seemed like a little miracle. It's not that surprising that we knew someone in common -- the geek circle in Seattle is not that insurmountably large -- but just finally knowing her name made me stupidly happy.
I finally did meet her, for real, sometime later, when said mutual friend brought her along to one of the open-house Sundays Riff and tree used to have.
I thought she was bored out of her mind. She mainly just sat in a corner and drew. Only much later did I realize that she was just simply absorbing, quietly studying us all, like a cat among unfamiliar people.
My fascination only grew over the months, as I got to know her. I loved her art, her sense of humor. I quietly stalked her on-line -- reading all the back entries in her journal, looking at pictures of her, Googling around for any little scrap of her writing -- but never really spent any time with her, except in groups of other people, brief conversations in passing.
Eventually, there was something she needed advice about, a situation with someone we both knew, and she wanted to talk with me about it. We got together, spent an afternoon talking about it. The next time we got together, we talked about -- everything, it seems like. We ended up in a park somewhere, after randomly driving around. We don't know where it was or how to find it again.
Seeing her in that park, watching her unself-consciously run for the simple joy of running . . . . I knew in that moment I was lost. That I loved her.
I didn't say anything about it, for a long time. By the time I told her, she already knew, of course. She wasn't ready for a new relationship, right then. I thought it was me she was unsure about. I was wrong.
Months later, at a party: our first kiss. I don't even remember it. I couldn't tell you if she kissed me, or if I kissed her -- it just happened, because it was just simply time for it to happen. I remember all the kisses that followed that night, I remember falling asleep holding her, all of it one everlong dreamy haze in my mind.
That was almost ten months ago. Surely, by now, some of the charm should have worn off, some of the sparkle should have faded. We should have lost some of the intensity of those first kisses. That's what people would tell you to expect. The same people who tell you there are no second chances.
I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. This is the most amazing, most effortless relationship I've ever been in, no arguments, no tears, no dissatisfaction, no regrets, no reservations. I feel completely understood and accepted. I've finally met someone who makes sense to me, someone who's one of my kind.
I have my miracle. I have a second chance. I will not waste it.
This is Valentine's Day; this, these words, with much love, are for the girl who makes me feel like every day is Valentine's Day.
There was a comics store I used to go to in the U-District called Arcadia. On one of my visits, I was struck by the girl who was working there. She seemed smart, charming, and friendly. She was knowledgeable about the comics she was selling, suggesting other titles I might like based on what I was looking at. Her sense of style was strong and idiosyncratic. She was beautiful, in every sense I could mean that.
I almost immediately wrote her off as someone I would never get to know. She was, frankly, way too cool for me. And as much I would have loved to ask her out for coffee or something, I figured that, in her position, she probably got enough customers hitting on her already, and I didn't want to be just another asshole. If you've ever developed a stupid little crush on a barista or a bookstore clerk or someone like that, you know what I'm talking about.
But anyway. I kept coming back to that little store; kept making excuses to drop by. Most times, she wasn't there, but sometimes she was. I saw her maybe two or three more times, until one day I dropped by the store and it wasn't there any more.
I was an idiot. I could have at least found out her name.
This story could have ended here. That's how life is supposed to work, at least. There are no second chances. Everyone tells you that.
A couple years passed. I mentioned this girl I used to see to a new friend of mine, and she said, "Oh, you mean Ahna. I know her -- I can introduce you sometime."
It seemed like a little miracle. It's not that surprising that we knew someone in common -- the geek circle in Seattle is not that insurmountably large -- but just finally knowing her name made me stupidly happy.
I finally did meet her, for real, sometime later, when said mutual friend brought her along to one of the open-house Sundays Riff and tree used to have.
I thought she was bored out of her mind. She mainly just sat in a corner and drew. Only much later did I realize that she was just simply absorbing, quietly studying us all, like a cat among unfamiliar people.
My fascination only grew over the months, as I got to know her. I loved her art, her sense of humor. I quietly stalked her on-line -- reading all the back entries in her journal, looking at pictures of her, Googling around for any little scrap of her writing -- but never really spent any time with her, except in groups of other people, brief conversations in passing.
Eventually, there was something she needed advice about, a situation with someone we both knew, and she wanted to talk with me about it. We got together, spent an afternoon talking about it. The next time we got together, we talked about -- everything, it seems like. We ended up in a park somewhere, after randomly driving around. We don't know where it was or how to find it again.
Seeing her in that park, watching her unself-consciously run for the simple joy of running . . . . I knew in that moment I was lost. That I loved her.
I didn't say anything about it, for a long time. By the time I told her, she already knew, of course. She wasn't ready for a new relationship, right then. I thought it was me she was unsure about. I was wrong.
Months later, at a party: our first kiss. I don't even remember it. I couldn't tell you if she kissed me, or if I kissed her -- it just happened, because it was just simply time for it to happen. I remember all the kisses that followed that night, I remember falling asleep holding her, all of it one everlong dreamy haze in my mind.
That was almost ten months ago. Surely, by now, some of the charm should have worn off, some of the sparkle should have faded. We should have lost some of the intensity of those first kisses. That's what people would tell you to expect. The same people who tell you there are no second chances.
I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. This is the most amazing, most effortless relationship I've ever been in, no arguments, no tears, no dissatisfaction, no regrets, no reservations. I feel completely understood and accepted. I've finally met someone who makes sense to me, someone who's one of my kind.
I have my miracle. I have a second chance. I will not waste it.
This is Valentine's Day; this, these words, with much love, are for the girl who makes me feel like every day is Valentine's Day.