Our first encounter had "chance" written all over it. The circumstances upon which these two cynical, self-critical idealists could have met is mind warping. I've tossed the possibilities around in my mind endlessly, and all I can come up with is there is some reason I am not cursing men and the greater part of humanity.
This encounter needed to happen. Sure, life centered around self-preservation and introverted observation could have sufficed for a few more years, but the more and more I hated people, the less I came to appreciate the small actions that make us all human, and somewhat related to each other.
So then I met him.
What is it about this man that intrigues me so? Is it possible that just when I think I can figure mankind and lump everyone into their own categories, he shakes up my whole system. This is not supposed to happen. One person cannot change a lifetime of quiet observation and judging. Years of bad relationships and friend mishaps should override whatever I feel at the age of 22, not to mention the trepidation I feel about the state of the world in general. So why am I dragging my feet around Dallas and sighing like the oxygen in this house is some off-brand imitation noble gas?
Because the one person that sees the world through the same stained mahogany frames as I is now 200 miles away. And for the first time since I can remember, I am free-falling into an romantic sappiness that only another torn lover could appreciate.
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