I need a guide to dating
Are we all just pretending like we know the flow, the quo, the way things are supposed to go? Or is the a system, a grid, a guide to let us know right from wrong, first date or two, to kiss or not, tongue yes or no, check the box because right now I just don’t know.
Know where my hands are supposed to go, what to say or what not to say, when to giggle and flirt, and when to say what I should say.
Say, what should I say? Should I say the things that are always on my mind, over and over tumbling, whirling, falling freely into the neverending stream of consciousness.
Or do I not. Do I not show that when you say your job is to work with food, I think of all the food, the best food the worst food, the one time I ate in Italy with an old friend who I should probably talk to, remember that thing we used to do? We use to laugh just like kids, just like my friends and I do when we gab and chat and drink wine, like I do after work, right your work, not my thoughts.
My thoughts keep spinning and spinning and while I swear I pay attention, sometimes attention doesn’t really show all the thousands of things that my mind goes to because of what you said. And what do I say?
There is no guide, no program, no line I can find that will show me where is enough and too much. I don’t know, am I too much? Or, in your head, while you sit across the table talking while you push those potatoes around with your fork you are thinking, am i too much? Are we all too much on a date or not enough?
What’s enough on a date? When do I have to have feelings, when do I have to know what some people seem to know way before I know anything that isn’t a fact. Feelings aren’t facts. You can’t convince me otherwise. They grow and they shrink and they change and adapt and at any given time I don’t know what mine are and how am I supposed to know what they are for you when I barely know what to do on this date anyway?
If I just had a guide, a system, a program in place. A person to tell at what time and place I can go and do and feel and know that somehow this might be for real. But instead I sit here, across the table from you, wishing that I knew just what I could do or say or think or feel to make this thing right or at least real.