The tear rolled down my cheek and I caught myself wondering if it looked as dramatic as it does when it happens on the big screen. The lone drop found its way to my upper lip and I licked it away, tasting its saltiness. Then I wondered if he would think that I was attempting seduction or tidiness.
The taste reminded me of the reality of the moment. I relished the onslaught of feelings -- something I hadn't allowed myself to do with this much intensity in a long while -- and yet I was pained that this moment was truly momentary.
Giving up something you want desperately but can't have is a very adult thing to do. And that tear carried with it the knowledge that the days ahead would not be fun, silly, and childlike as the hours had been previously. That tear carried with it horrible wisdom.
Afterwards, I reached out to someone else. The spontaniety of the act was welcomed but couldn't be met. Too busy. But instead of giving up, staying in my darkened room and enjoying the fruits of a fine pity party, I tried again. Second chances are so very rewarding, don't you think? And, in a friend/brother, found a companion for my post-yuck journey. We drove with the top down, taking in the sunset, the reflections off Houston's glorious towers of steel and glass, the right-ness of the two of us simply enjoying what we have. Dinner outside at a new place with all the right points for coolness and I was back at "me" again.
Today the tear's taste lingers . . . yet peace has found its way into my thoughts as well. So I'm smiling . . . and wondering what's next.