babe.

The thing that scares you:

You are talking and talking and talking. Both of you. It is one of those conversations that lasts hours past your intended bedtime. You glance at the clock and your watch and your cell phone once, twice, and again, and whenever there is a lull, you say, “It’s late. I’m going to hate myself in the morning,” but then something comes up again and you can’t seem to pry your ear from the phone or stop laughing at his jokes. And there is one time when you are rambling and he says, “Didn’t you say you needed to go to bed?” and you respond to his snark with, “If you wanted to get off the phone with me, all you had to do was say so,” and after mumbling something about you being a shit talker, he coherently says, “Naw, I honestly don’t want this to end.”

But then it’s like 2:30 a.m. and you have to wake up in four hours and you don’t have the type of job you can wing on a little bit of sleep so you finally get ready to say “Goodbye” and then he says, “Sleep well, babe” and before you can stop yourself, a bewildered “Babe?” pops out of your mouth with seven more question marks behind it.

Babe. He’s called you “babe” on your second phone call, three days before your first date. And though it rolled off his tongue with ease and caressed your ear with a soft thud, your brain has erected a steel impenetrable, eighty foot wall reminiscent of something out of Game of Thrones, with dragons and The Nights Watch stationed all around that organ in your chest, carrying promises of a winter destined to last at least twenty years.

And even though that organ is hiding behind all of that protection, it is spinning in a drunken stupor because it is greedy and undisciplined and childlike and ever since you’ve met this man, it has begged to come out and play.

He is quiet because all of those question marks after you repeated his term of affection are like a million yellow flags on a football field. Who is the one who messed up here, though? Him or you? He only did what came natural. But, so did you.

“You don’t like the word ‘babe’”?

“Oh, it’s not that. Not that at all. I just… how do I say it?” You think your words through carefully because you know that sometimes you and those who look like you carry hurt from past experiences rooted between your teeth, and sometimes your tongue can't help but dig them out and hurl them at the feet of the innocent. He doesn’t deserve that, but he does deserve to know the truth.

“You’re calling me ‘babe’ tonight, but… what if a few days pass and we realize that this right here… aint it? Don’t waste your ‘babes’ on me.” You try to make it a joke, but he doesn't laugh this time.

“I should slow down. I’m moving too fast.” Questions to himself disguised as statements to you. He is unsure, unsteady, walking in the dark, stumbling. This change in subject reveals another thing you have in common.

You almost feel guilty that his uncertainty calms you.

He tells you he made a serious decision not to hold back on anything, to say what he feels in the moment, have no regrets. You tell him you've rushed before, and taking things slow is one of your New Year resolutions.

You've both made plans that perfectly conflict with each others goals. You laugh at the luck of such a thing happening right here and right now with this person. This man who, two days ago, didn't know your name but held your hand anyway. Anyone else would've been swatted away like a ninja, but you didn't cringe when this perfect stranger fiddled with your fingers with one hand while tapping his number into your phone with the other.  This man who asked you out without the usual song and dance. Told you he liked you as if he always has. When asked how many others were in his shoes, your smart ass told him, “12 million”, he said, and with the right amount of confidence, “Them n*ggas don’t stand a chance now.” 

This man impressed you immediately. Made you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time. Not love. Too soon for that. More like… safe. The kind of safe that makes plans and boundaries and rules and new year resolutions fly out of the fucking window.

When you finally do say “Good night,” it is with the type of longing that doesn't make sense. Logic is gone, fear went with it, and those dragons protecting your heart? They’re closing their eyes with you.

Girl... welcome to 2015.