...and then...

Uggh. I remember this. The fawning hours before any new coupling can take its full shape: soul mates, long-term love, short-lived flame, friends with an understanding, late night lovers, bitter enemies. Before hoisting out any such labels, an abominable spell of time must first be spent wrestling down uncertainties and second-guessing your infallible intuition (which is always, simply, “do it” or “don’t do it.”). Obviously, with no inclination of where the introductions will lead, we spend the thin, early hours wondering, overanalyzing, waiting and… hoping. I forgot how much I hated this part. Truth be told, I don’t think I was wise enough then to dislike the Hoping Phase. Back then, I believed that the simultaneous heady and sinking sensations I felt were the signal of budding affection. Do it or don’t do it? Does he or doesn’t he? I can remember how trying not to check the answering machine (yes, it’s been that long) became an extreme sport of wills. Spreading out the t...