Without The Fantasy

I met someone last night.

I thought he was interesting.

Actually, it was more than that. There was something about his presence, his energy, that stood out to me. I was sitting with a number of people, talking and laughing and enjoying myself, but there was something about him that caught my attention differently.

This morning, I was texting with a friend. We were chatting about whatever, and somewhat offhandedly, I told her I had met someone last night.

As I was typing, my first instinct was to say:

I think he might be my soulmate.

And then I stopped.

She and I have joked plenty over the years about all of my potential husbands. I know how easy it is to meet someone interesting and begin imagining.

To take a spark and build a fire.

To fill in everything I don’t know yet with everything I hope might be true.

And I don’t want to do that anymore.

I still want to feel the excitement of meeting someone who catches my attention. I still want to be open to possibility, to romance, to the wonderful things that sometimes begin with nothing more than an unexpected connection between two people.

And there was something about this particular person that made me notice.

But I don’t know him.

So I didn’t send the story that had already begun forming in my head.

Instead, I texted something much simpler:

I’d like to get to know him better.

That means something to me.