Pieces.

He walked into the room, smiled slightly nervously and the first thing I thought was 'God. What a beautiful man.' It was almost surreal. He moved his hands with a grace I could never begin to hope for. His eyes lit up when he talked about anything outrageous. Which was often of course and then he'd laugh self consciously.

I could have looked at him forever.

And he was fun to talk to, fun to be with. I know that's not the best of descriptions. Just the word 'fun'. A million more could substitute. Comfortable, crazy, ridiculous. Heartfelt, yes. Mixed up, yes. Sexual, yes.

And then there was this one. Who told me he was 'perfectly content' with his life. Who kept up nights for no reason. Not because he was restless but just with the fucking contentment of it all. And who told me I was too restless, too all over the place, too easily bored. I told him I'm really a hopeless romantic. But not to tell anyone because it was a secret. He just laughed. I wanted a secret from him. He insisted he had none. Then he told me he'd never told anyone this but he loved the head rush he'd get after spinning in circles.

Not perfectly content after all then.