Note: I've decided to use this as an expression blog. Below is something I've written, and it's probably not as good as I think it is, but I doubt too many people will read it anyway. You'll see many more of these. We grew up. My development process was admittedly a little more purposeful. Half of my life between then and now was preparation for the ultimate, life-changing relationship I knew I was bound to have (the majority of which probably made me more naïve than I was to begin with). Nevertheless, I was ready when we finally met him again. For some reason, whenever I thought of him I pictured him as an older-looking version of whom he was—the same shapely figure, the same golden skin, and same long, curly hair even. Perhaps he’d be wearing a tuxedo. I pictured the 18-year-old boy I’d liked so much, the one that was once ecstatic about getting a new suit even though it was cheap and poorly tailored. I knew from our first conversation his intended career path. “International business,” he said, as if he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But I couldn’t help picturing him as an average joe. He was one of those teenage guys that focused a little too much on sports, friends, girls, and his awesome future and never cared enough about school. So when I saw him, I was more than caught off-guard. And it’s not that I was a big shot, either. I’d been working for a nice, small company for a few years, earning a living that I met my needs sufficiently. But I’d been accustomed to a mundane life since college. It brought me to a good place. As I walked in at 6:30 that morning sipping from the large travel mug in my left hand and struggling with a stack of binders and loose papers in my right, I caught a glance of a group of businessmen. He was standing at the front desk speaking to Marine, the secretary. He had a nicely-shaven head and beard, and wore a beautiful, black, wool-silk suit. As I made it to my office door it finally clicked. I’m not sure I could have recognized him if he’d worn anything else. I was never one for words, you know. Back in the day it used to annoy him, and even now in the office I was the quiet one. But it seemed fitting for me, especially that morning, especially at the moment when I heard a knock, and he opened the door, and all we had to do was make eye contact to convey the sincerity and timelessness of words and feelings long-suppressed.