This post is dedicated to a man who will never read my blog and someone I may never see again, but who enjoyed my brief time with me this summer. A man who wore loafers with shorts and ankle socks (which I hated). A man who was not large in stature but took up more space in my mind than a man has in a long time. A man four years my senior with less experience than I. A man I spent 12 hours with in one night and 10 the following day. A man who buried his head in my shoulder during our goodbye hug and confidently grabbed me by the waist for a dance. A man who was too shy to kiss me. A man who shared all of the same opinions as me, and a man I could listen to for hours.

We met at work. My boss was out of town, but I still needed to be in the area, so she called another office to see if I could spend the day with them. When I arrived, I introduced myself, and he complimented my name. We started talking and instantly hit it off. After a while, his coworker joined us and immediately began flirting with me. Now, physically and on paper, his coworker is more of my type, and everyone in the office was aware of that fact (due to him asking me a series of yes-or-no questions about my type). I spent the day with the man and his coworker, and each conversation and interaction with him made him stand out to me in a way no man had in a very long time. I actively felt myself getting butterflies. That first day, we talked about movies, music, politics, and various philosophies. After my day ended, I called my car home and immediately texted him because the car was playing a genre of music I had just shared with him that I hated.

When I arrived at my summer home, I informed my cousin of my interaction and how I could not stop thinking about this man. This was shocking to me because, while he’s not unattractive by any means, I am a woman for a Black man. The man is white and indigenous and lives over 900 miles away from me. Yet, he still consumed my thoughts. I was pleased to find out I was on his mind as well when he texted me on Saturday (we met on a Thursday), expressing that he’d love to see me and have a chance to speak with me. Of course, this was a drunken message, and I was aware of that, but I was going to take it anyway. I suggested lunch, and that Monday we met at the local Colombian café (he is Colombian) and spent a rainy afternoon together. We were interrupted but managed to enjoy about 30 minutes of conversation before another coworker uninvitedly joined us. While together, we talked about everything—from what he did between finishing undergraduate and graduate school to our interests, our love for our separate home cities, and really took the time to get to know each other and appreciate each other’s company. That day, he told me, “I really can’t find anything wrong with you. You’re like literally perfect.” I did not react at that moment, but I have thought about that for quite some time.

Now I know this could be a line, but you can usually tell the type. This was genuine, and he is indeed a man afraid of coming off as performative in any way (which can be very annoying at times). He visited me the next day in my office to have some banana pudding I bought to share. We spent the next two weeks just spamming text messages and memes to each other about various topics, and I was always very excited to see what our next conversation would be about. I did not see him again until almost two weeks after our initial meeting, and that was on a Sunday when I was out with my cousin. He texted me saying he believed he just saw me and came over to greet me at the table. Now, we are both in a HUGE city, so the chances of us running into each other were extremely slim. Earlier that day, I had hoped I might see him somehow, but I knew I would be pretty far from where he lives in the city. I am not sure if it was because I was drunk or something else, but when I saw him at the table, I instantly became coy and excited. An hour later, I texted him to let him know I had one more weekend in the city if he wanted to see me. We planned to hang out that Friday.

On Friday, I went to meet him after leaving happy hour with another friend. We met at a wine and jazz bar at 8 p.m. and talked for hours. We eventually left because he is very antsy and went to another restaurant. We did not get food and left after 10 minutes. Then, we went to get him ice cream and walked around the city for a while. We sat in a public seating area and talked for some time before getting pizza. After the pizza, we went to a vinyl bar and left almost immediately to go to a smoke shop so the antsy man could calm his nerves. After finding a dark corner for him to indulge (because he was afraid to be in public), we returned to the general area of the vinyl bar. We never went back inside, but he sat outside and talked for a few more hours. Eventually, I decided I wanted to dance, and we went to a nearby black club. We danced for a while and tried to ignore all the stares. We stayed until closing at 3 a.m. Then, we sat outside the bar and talked some more until we had to leave. Afterwards, we went to another black club across town. We danced again, ignoring the stares, and eventually, he gained the courage to grab my waist to dance. I mentally shouted, “FINALLY.” It was short-lived because once the song ended, I unconsciously backed away. The club closed at 4:55 p.m., and we wandered the city for a few hours more. We ended up walking to our places of work (which are right across the street from each other) and called our separate cars from there. Assuming we’d never see each other again, we said our goodbyes, and when he hugged me, he buried his entire face in my shoulder. That was one of the many moments when I regretted that he did not have his own place to invite me back to.

I got home Saturday at 7 a.m. and woke up to messages from him saying he enjoyed our time together and wanted to see me again. I was also very interested in this. We agreed to meet the next day. I spent all Saturday excited about seeing him again and hoping he’d feel empowered to make a move. He requested that we meet Sunday at 10 a.m. at a local arboretum. I never wake up before 11 a.m. on purpose on weekends, but I agreed because I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

I arrived at the arboretum, and we walked through the park, getting eaten by mosquitoes the entire time. He was kind enough to offer to carry my heavy “stop lynching” and “protect black lives” bag for the whole walk. After two hours, we decided to grab a bite to eat. Just as he is antsy, he is indecisive so though he is a native of the city, I found a place for us to eat. We enjoyed a meal together and shared two appetizers. He ordered a coffee, as it took me two hours to eat 25% of my burger. Afterwards, we went to the local bookstore and stayed there until roughly 7:30 p.m. He then dropped me off to my cousin at 8 p.m. I invited him to join us for dinner, but unfortunately, he declined.

Now our time is over, and we have texted some about various topics, but we are both aware that what we had was just fun for the moment. I bought him a copy of ASSATA, and I hope he always thinks of me when he hears her name. I think the Short Reading Man was placed in my life to remind me that men can be interesting and that I can still feel something for a man after being in a four-year relationship. I had become somewhat hopeless and believed that all the men couldn’t read. When I explained to him that the men couldn’t read, he knew exactly what I meant. The callous truth is that the dentist did not take up space in my mind; he was simply a release that became stressful (I fired him). But the Short Reading Man was the first man to take up space in my mind. I wanted to wear cuter clothes to work and be as enchanting as possible every time, just in case I saw him. I knew he wouldn’t be my boyfriend, and I did not want that at all. I also did not want to sleep with him. However, the sexual tension was beautiful and something I hadn’t really felt since the sailor.

These romantic friendships lack[] sexual engagement but [are] rich in erotic passion

bell hooks, Communion, 207

What we had is what I believe bell hooks calls a “romantic friendship” in her book Communion. I agree with bell when she says that no one really understands the role of nonsexual erotic passion. I believe that if the short reading man and I were to try to engage in sexual activity, I would not think of him as fondly as I do now, and I would not have learned the lesson I needed to learn. I have slept with a close friend of mine and my connection to him is nothing more than mundane in my head. The short reading man reminded me that I am desirable and that men are not all himbos. He helped me laugh and reminded me what it feels like to be young and single. He made me excited to date again once I returned home. He reminded me that a smart, interesting, quick witted, kind, and chivalrous man is out there waiting for me. He reminded me what romance looks like, even when it is unintentional. He reminded me that men still yearn and can be expressive. He reminded how beautiful it is to have someone to share intimate parts of yourself with without having to sleep with him.

So, to my man that can read, thank you for reminding me how beautiful and novel love can be. Though we did not share anything more than a dance and a loving hug, that was the most genuine mutual intimacy I’ve experienced in a very long time. I forgot what that felt like. Thank you for demonstrating how a man should behave when he is interested in me. And, thank you for the dances we shared. I hope you find the love you deserve because you truly deserve the purest kind of love.