Three days ago, out of nowhere, he reached out after eight long months. He sent an email in the morning, which I didn’t see until he mentioned it when he called that afternoon. His voice, after all this time, was both familiar and unexpected, as if those eight months had somehow compressed into a fleeting moment. He had a question about something I’d given him last year, but our conversation quickly moved to how we’d been. He asked if I was still doing CrossFit, and naturally, I was curious about him too—whether he started kickboxing again and how life had been treating him. He told me he was doing well, and hearing his voice brought an unexpected warmth. It didn’t feel like eight months had passed; instead, it was as if we had simply picked up from where we left off.
I realized then how much I’d been thinking about him lately, how much I’d missed him—so much that I had written about him, pouring my thoughts and feelings onto the page. As we spoke, my emotions surged, a mix of surprise, nostalgia, and something deeper that I couldn’t quite name. By the time we hung up, I felt like a teenager with a crush, heart racing, thoughts tangled. There’s no denying that this man still stirs something profound within me.
This afternoon, as I reflected on our conversation, I found myself thinking of all the dreams he’s appeared in since we first met two and a half years ago. I thought these feelings would have faded by now, that time would have softened their edges, but sometimes emotions linger far longer than we expect. It’s intriguing, almost magical, how these feelings have quietly withstood the test of time, holding their place in my heart as if they were always meant to be there.
