#from morgan

By the time Zach and I had our first date, I figured it was a sort of get-this-out-of-the-way kind of date.  You know the kind.  The kind where you connect with someone, it seems all sparkly at first, and then, failed attempt after failed attempt to secure a day/time that's good for both of you, it starts to seem like you're just following through so you don't seem wish-washy.  

It took weeks to finally nail a date that worked for both of us.  I had gotten -- and faught, without antibiotics, thankyouverymuch -- strep throat; I was right in the middle of finishing up my Reiki practitioner training; the great Portland Snowpocalypse of 2014 was melting away; and, because I need a lot of positive reinforcement to be convinced someone is really into me (and I kinda just didn't think he was), I wasn't all that invested.  

I had even forgotten to return one of his messages, which he thankfully followed up on, because in my post-illness haze (and figuring he was just doing me a favor continuing to feign interest in going on a date with me), I had spaced on it/him completely.

I should note here that Zach had a remarkably different impression of the time leading up to our first date.  Unbeknownst to me, he was crazy excited.  The only indication I had of this (which he likes to remind me of all the time) is the fact that he arrived to my house for our first date with a fancy bone for Bodhi.

(Bodhi has since come to adore Zach, and the lovely warm campfires he's so good at making, in addition to his excellent taste in gourmet bones....)

All the same, by the time Zach arrived (super mega bonus points: he picked me up at my house!), I had that funny anticipatory nervous feeling in my tummy, and was so stinkin' charmed that he'd brought my pup a bone.  It was straight up adorbs.  AND he opened my car door for me.  (And he still does.  Every time.)

On the ride out to the Indian restaurant Zach found for us (I had mentioned I was ravenous for good garlic naan), I found myself just plain comfortable.  Like I'd hopped in the car with an old girlfriend from college, and we were about to start talking about our periods any second.  

I mean, do you really want to feel that comfortable on a first date?  At the time I didn't think so.

It was was nice, but not mind-blowing.  I spoke fluidly and without reserve.  I felt like myself.  I was attracted to him in a way I didn't quite recognize; more than thinking he was just a cute dude, I found him really interesting to look at.  I kept noticing things about him throughout the night: the way he tucked his hair behind his ears, the shape of his teeth, his hands, the way he walked (and his sweet little booty).  And, most notably, the way he looked at me like I could be either magic or insane, and I couldn't tell which it was.

I kind of liked that.

Despite the initial comfort that eventually evolved into sharing a bottle of wine and lots of laughter over our three-hour meal together, we both agree now that it wasn't an epic first date.  Neither of us thought the other was that into him/her.  I was kinda bummed he didn't want to grab a drink or somesuch after dinner, but considering that it hadn't been an outrageously romantic evening, I figured I had had the correct read on the situation all along: Zach just wasn't that into me.

And honestly, I wasn't that bummed.  On the way back to my house, I figured, if anything, it had been a fun night out with an interesting, intelligent, funny guy who had brought my dog a bone.  

But then... the hug.

Zach insisted on getting out of the car to come around for a proper goodbye hug.  And it was good.  But then it lasted.  And lasted.  And lasted.  

I felt so held, so trusted.  As I would come to realize would become normal for Zach and I, time just sort of melted softly away.  Moment by moment, it changed (almost) everything for me about that first date.  

At one point, many many seconds into this warm embrace with a near-stranger, I realized that every so gently, it was sprinkling.  And the feeling of the cool sprinkles on my cheeks, with this warm and wonderful man holding me, was a memory I kept coming back to over the next few days as we navigated ourselves into a connection that would end up leading to, well, all of this.  And this.

Our first date was 6 months ago yesterday.  Half a year.  All year, around almost every corner of thought, daydream, reverie or hope, has been Zach.  

For lovers of such short duration, we've been through a gauntlet of clusterfuckage.  Seemingly from the very beginning, we've faced proverbial dragons of all kinds -- both inner and outer.  But woven throughout the months has been the way time bends and warps whenever we're in the same room; so often looking at Zach, I don't know if I'm looking at him here and now, or him as an old man I've grown ancient with, or a child I climbed trees with, or if we're from another time and place all together.

The truth: every day, as I'm going about the business of any normal homo sapien (drinking coffee, staring off into space, walking from one place to another), I am adding to an ongoing list I've created in my mind:

Things I Love About Zach

There are many, many things on this list.  And it changes, depending on what I'm most appreciating in any given moment (his fine physical form, for instance, or the way he pre-grinds coffee for me so I don't have to do it).  

I figured it was time to make an actual list.  So in no particular order...

The way he pre-grinds coffee for me so I don't have to do it.  We have one of those old wind-and-grind grinders which is a bit of work, but not totally unpleasant.  I don't mind doing it myself, but if he's making us coffee in the morning, he always grinds extra.

This one pair of olive green pants he wears. The first time I saw him in them: DEAR GOD.

This one pair of black boots he has.  (See above.)

The way his hair flops over his face while he's sleeping.  I don't know how he doesn't suffocate on it all, but it's so goddamned precious I almost squeal every time I look over at him and he his blond locks fanned out across his sweet face.

He has the cutest feet.

And beautiful hands.

And is SUCH a babe.

The bed he built us.  The combination of his skill at building something both functional, supportive, necessary and intimate kills me.  

Speaking of skills with wood...

The man could build a roaring fire in a motherfucking monsoon.  The first time I watched him gather wood from the forest where we were camping, break that wood with either his bare hands, other pieces of wood or boulders, I swear I could feel all my not-yet-fertilized eggs screaming at me to hurry up and procreate with the baddest dude I've ever met.

HE CHOPS WOOD WITH BOULDERS.  

Speaking of wilderness adventures...

School Night Camping.  I know a secret spot, and one of my dreams was to head up in the middle of the week, escape the city, and sleep outside under the stars.  I told Zach about my idea, and he was over the moon. Now it's a part of our (almost) weekly routine.  It is so, so special.

Moving on...

Those lips!  The first time Zach kissed me, the world dissolved into a million hot pink sparkly particles and my face melted a little.  It was life-changing.

The man is hilarious.  Every single day, I almost pee myself laughing.  He does these voices -- entire personalities -- with their own psychological makeup, perceptions about the world, and commentary, and it's all just. so. good.  Every day, he is hilarious.  He's hilarious even when I'm being an asshole and would rather be an asshole than laugh.  But then I laugh, and I love him so much. 

His full-throttle tenderness.  Seriously, I have never known a man so brave in his tenderness, his vulnerability and his truthfulness.  It is by far one of the sexiest things about him.

He is a warrior.  It makes me profoundly proud to know that when shit hits the fan, Zach is discerning, powerful and brave.  His insight is crystal-clear.  He is honest, straight-forward, and deeply centered.  There is no one else I'd rather have on my side than this man.

Much to my tantruming, protesting and pouty faces, Zach went away on business last week.  FOR FOUR DAYS. 

You guys, four days is a long fucking time for two people who spend basically every available moment together when they are not working or pooping (and sometimes we even work together).

And, of course, it was during a week I was hacking and weezing and blowing every bodily fluid I own out of my nose (almost-summer cold?), tired and cranky and with three bajillion things that needed my attention, and, well, Zach was halfway across the country, and it was horrible.

What we found, also, was that his return did not herald the relief and let's-just-be-together-every-second that we would have both loved.  Zach had to work on the weekend, and we had parties and celebrations that needed our attention, and, while lovely, meant we were stressed and pushed and stretched and ended up not being each other's favorite human for several consistent hours.

Which was its own kind of special hell.

But this much is true: there is no one else I'd rather be stretched and stressed with.  No one else I'd rather be human with.  And to know that is enough.