a little rust around the edges.

(A quick, quiet confessional before it all goes down.)

Sometimes, meeting a new person is a chance to recreate yourself. They look at you with fresh eyes, and you could be anyone. You could be perfect. You could be everything they want. They don't know. There's just so much hope in the beginning, it's beautiful and simple and there are butterflies in stomachs and frogs in throats and clammy hands shoved into pockets and long, sideways glances. Some things never change.

But what if you meet someone when you aren't ready? When you can't be perfect?

Right now, there is a message on my answering machine, from a new fellow I'm hanging out with who lives just across the way. He wants to meet for breakfast. I have been conquering not only a compelling bout of depression and a painfully empty wallet, but have also been afflicted with some kind of stomach flu, and where earlier this morning, I was literally talking out of my ass, I am now sucking on plain crackers, trying to combat odd little ripples of naseau. I have a new pimple brewing in that delicate patch of skin under my cheekbone, you know the type of pimple, it throbs, it goes deep and threatens to undermine any whisper of self-esteem I can muster at this rather rough point in my life.

I'm not trying to sound pathetic (look how pathetic I am, isn't it just the stuff anecdotes are made of?) I'm merely trying to illustrate the fact that this is where I'm at right now, and the boy across the way has no idea. He probably wouldn't notice the pimple, nor would he care if he did. I can try to keep my depression a well-kept secret, he probably wouldn't be able to tell, what with all the questions I'm peppering him with, to deflect attention from my feeling-beaten self. And, while I don't wish to tell him the specifics about my sojourn on the toilet this morning, anyone can sympathise with a stomach bug.

I still want to hide all of this from him. I want to be clear-skinned, and bright-eyed. I want to be friendly and funny and lovely, all things I can be on better days. I want to have one of those magic days you dream of having with a near stranger you've only been out with twice, where you talk for hours and eat chocolate chip cookies and go to a movie and wonder if he's thinking about touching you in the dark. Where silences are, if not golden, at the very least, comfortable. I know he wants to see me, I know he is leaving soon, for parts unknown, for an undetermined amount of time. I could be anyone, could be reckless and free and fun, could unburden myself of my misery because of his obliviousness to it. What am I so scared of?

I guess all I can do is try. I can pick up the phone and call him back and tell him I want to see a movie and eat eggs. I can open my mouth and hope he doesn't hear the flutter of butterfly wings, or those frogs leaping all over my words and thoughts. I can hope all the wildlife in me just quiets down, and that whoever he is, he's not looking for something easy and perfect.

Because maybe, just maybe, he's looking for me.