Happily ever after

We're curled up together, about to doze off, when he asks (between all the giggling and tickling, of course), "Do you fall for someone easily?"

And can we get a show of hands here? Can we all attest to the fact that this is very strange behavior on my part? All this cuddling. All this smiling.

As a matter of fact, no, I do not fall easily. I am the most abrasive, guarded, mistrusting woman you will ever meet. So no. I don't fall easily.

And don't worry, I'm leaving. I'm leaving in a week. We both know it. We both know its necessary. And maybe I'm stretching it, but- we're both disappointed. I found someone. Someone. Not even someone. Him.

I get up in the middle of the night to go to his house after he gets off work just to sleep next to him for a few hours. This morning, I got out of bed at 6am to go to his house, we watched "The Dark Knight" at dawn and then went back to bed a 8am, with me getting up shortly thereafter to work. It has nothing to do with alarm clocks or movies or even what was said, just that its not yet dawn and I'm wrapped up in his arms on the sidewalk before I walk into his house, realizing an hour after I arrive that somehow we're holding hands, that I didn't even notice, it just happened, it was meant to happen, I couldn't stop it if I wanted. Its the going to sleep and then just talking, talking about me leaving and him asking if I fall in love easily and me having a moment, no, just a second, where I worried I'd cry. How silly is that? I'm infatuated with him, I am. I'm leaving at a point where we can both go about our lives, that this won't matter as much later -oh, who I am kidding? You're never going to hear the end of The Bartender, the way this is going.

I guess, well, its this: if I stayed any longer, I would fall right into love. I would. Right now, me thinking about him, me typing about him, me planning to go for a run in a few minutes, me unloading the dishwasher, me searching for my umbrella: I'm falling in love with him. If I get out now, if I leave when I leave, I'll be in Chicago, just searching for my umbrella, no ulterior motive.

I may just grow to hate umbrellas and forever associate them with me losing this. Am I losing this? Is this something to lose? Or is this shelf life what makes it great? Because we're never going to fight about my drinking or his smoking habit or how I can't stand his going out every night or how I won't ever shut up. We will never have this. We can't. We get this brief, fairytale bit. The beginning of happily ever after. Until I fly away.