Love and beer on the longest night of the year

When I met you, one floor up from the acute psychosis ward, you were wearing a paper shower cap and green pyjamas just like mine. You glared at me through the crowd because you thought I had your hoodie on. But we just had very similar hoodies.

The thing I replay over and over in my head (they call that an obsession) is the moment when we walked out the door of that place on Main late at night and without looking I knew you had turned your hand behind you to hold mine. You wouldn’t throw out your whole arm, just rotate it slightly at the shoulder to expose your palm. And I took it without looking or moving my arm and we walked like that only for a few steps because your car was right there on the corner. Too soon. I remember the exact feel of your hand. Soft and small.

I don’t remember much of what we said before that because I was pretty drunk. But I remember that we both stopped talking once and stared at each other across the beer because we realized we were the same. I said I never thought I would like someone like me. You said it too. Who said it first? I wish I could