i am writing this blog post to tell the story of us.

i am not writing it as a love letter to you, and i’m not writing it to describe my feelings for you, no. not yet. i’m not quite ready to be honest about those.

so, to distract myself from the fear of losing you, i’ll record what we’ve been, so far. because these two nights i don’t ever want to forget.

not that i ever will.

i. chico

among tendrils of steam in the mountains you fell into my life. swiping for fun, i’d say, but secretly i was swiping for more. i was swiping for a dream. and i suppose i found what i was looking for.

you were a rancher, not a farmer. you were desperate to, well

get to business

but i wanted to get to know you. you seemed surprised by that, for some reason. but bumping uglies without meaning isn’t worth doing, not to me.

i wrote once that you shouldn’t do anything in life that you don’t find meaningful. and i found you meaningful from the beginning.

so we texted and snapped and go to know each other some. it took three days before we met officially. three days of mountain roads and waterfalls and sending your photos to the people i love to show you off

just a little.

ii. one

you said it took a lot for you to come to my house. well, if it did, you didn’t let on. you came up the grass confidently, and i leaned against the door to pretend i wasn’t nervous (i was) and spoke to you as if i was used to having guys waltz up my driveway (i wasn’t).

you were sort of shifty, at first. thank god we started at my house, because i wouldn’t have been so

comfortable

anywhere else.

far, now, here and things got started.

i learned so much from you in such a short amount of time. you noted this, i love to learn, and maybe that’s the reason i’m so attracted (in every sense of the word) to you. you’ve introduced me to worlds unknown, described a way of life that i’m surprised to say i admire immensely. you have, in many ways, ignited my love for montana. you’ve reminded me what’s important. with you, i remember myself.

and that is a gift.

an hour-long conversation later, where i was constantly worried about talking too little or too much, and your lips were on mine, out in the open in that parking lot to the waterfall trail.

let me say that again, for the people that really know me.

our first kiss was standing in the parking lot of a waterfall trailhead. in montana. at golden hour.

incredible, right?

we only saw one other group of people on the trail. and thank god, because as we talked about old relationships and soft pinks and oranges unraveled in the sky above us, i couldn’t stop myself from kissing you.

on the bridges over roaring snowmelt.

on the switchbacks that were too high for both of us.

in front of ousel falls as the mist settled onto our skin.

thank you for coming with me.

the drive back i enjoyed even more than the drive there, though i was tired of pressing my foot to the pedal and gripping that huge steering wheel. there were other things i’d rather be doing, which i suppose we did do when i pulled off to the side of the road.

at nightfall we were winding through the canyon and the river did the same beside us. plummets of fog surrounded us. i thrive in mystery, so of course i loved the fog.

didn’t you hear?

iii. last night

suddenly, you were the easiest thing in the world.

time dispels.

my heart fills.

and i feel like i’ve returned.

the big white clouds above, the view out of the back window of your truck, golden hour in your eyes again.

let’s just say

i cannot wait for part iv.