We lived in different cities. There were about two hours between us.
For our first meeting, I wanted to go to their city. There were two reasons for this.
The first reason was that a few weeks before we met, they’d been in a serious car accident.
An accident that was completely the other driver’s fault.
They told me they got out of their crushed, mangled car with nothing more than an injured arm.
Even though they offered to come, I didn’t want to tire them out.
Before we met, we would talk about the accident. They didn’t really talk about what they had gone through or what they had felt.
And I didn’t want to go too deep. So we found ourselves talking about the accident in a light, joking way.
They talked about how lucky they were to have survived.
“I guess the person who hit you was pretty lucky too. If something had happened to you, it would’ve really ruined their day,” I texted, laughing.
“I’d never thought of it that way,” they wrote, laughing. “You’re so right.”
“Then it means there was a whole life waiting for you to live,” I said.
“Yes, you said that beautifully. I think so too. That’s why I celebrate everything now.
I celebrate the firsts of my second life. Like drinking the first coffee of my second life,” they said, laughing.
Once, I told them, “This is your second life. I was sent to bring beauty into this second life of yours. You went through something terrible. Now there’s only happiness ahead. And I’m the one assigned to it,” I said.
I was saying these things with a strange sense of responsibility and excitement—being the first person to enter their life after they’d come back from death.
But in truth, as they were beginning their second life, they had come to burn me and resurrect me too.
The second reason was that if I went to them, I’d feel freer.
I’d be staying at my friend’s place in their city. If I didn’t feel good around them, I could leave immediately.
I didn’t want to feel a sense of obligation. They already understood that anyway.
“I understood that you wanted to come so that you could leave whenever you wanted,” they said.
“I’m just like you. I don’t just feel good around anyone. Actually, that’s why I wanted to come to your city for our first meeting too.
But our conversations are going so well, I don’t think our meeting will go badly. That’s why I’m not insisting against your offer to come.”
They were right.
The morning after we met, my friend asked how it went.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“What do you mean?” they asked.
“I don’t know… it feels like nothing I say would be enough.”
The first message of the morning came from them, “The first thing that came to mind when I woke up was you. You made me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. Thank you. I’m so curious how you’re going to tell your friends about this meeting.”
I tried to brush off that last message. But they kept circling back to it.
“When I ask you something directly, you don’t answer. When I ask indirectly, you don’t answer either. You’re really something else,” they said.
And finally, I said, “I just don’t want to answer that. Besides, I couldn’t even find the words to describe it. Even if I don’t answer, I’m really curious about your answer.”
They replied immediately, “I can tell you, it’s easy. I already told them this morning. I said I just felt like I’ve been shot in the brain.”
We were talking about how we were completely wrecked last night. “Why does it hurt so much?” we were saying.
Really… why did it hurt like that?
Only with them could I question the beauty and the pain of this encounter.
I was meeting them—the only person who truly understood me—in the same pain.
At the same time, from the moment I woke up that morning, I felt this high vibration in my heart. And I was crying, for reasons I didn’t understand.
I didn’t tell them, thinking they might get scared if I did.
We were texting, we were talking. I could feel their attention on me.
But I didn’t know why I was crying.
Toward the evening, they said, “By the way, every time I see you’ve messaged today, my stomach turns upside down.
If you haven’t left, I might steal you away tonight.”
“I haven’t left. Let’s meet,” I said.
What does it mean to desire another person’s warmth?
I had to learn.