A yellow post-it stuck from under my door handle. I squinted toward it as I walked from work. There were two small notes there, one continuing from the other. I had looked at my car wondering if there would be something there from time to time. Hoping for a romantic. And there it was, a small note thanking me for being me. A sweet little memory box, recounting the past weekend and how it made him feel. A few of the small moments that we accumulate, a few from the hundred.

This weekend was a good one. I appreciated the time we spent together. That made me feel really good.

It’s weird being in a new relationship. Things mean things to me, but they don’t mean SO MUCH to me. I’m not in love. When I don’t see him I think about him but in a more insecure, wondering way. I don’t freely call him. I still get nervous and shy. It’s weird. When we aren’t together it’s like a lot of the feelings are wiped away, and when we are together I get so excited and happy. But I’m not in love, and I try to keep from being infatuated. So I am just happy, when he’s here, miss him around when he’s not, but nothing deeper. It’s not some crazy head case of a relationship where the feelings are stronger than they should be. This has taught me pace and patience.

It’s weird, I’m not used to it. I almost feel like I’m going to fuck it up. But then he reminds me that he’s been waiting for me for years. He isn’t going anywhere. That is going to take a lot more time to get used to then anything. this time, no ones leaving.