Thought Catalog

When he peered at her face in winter’s sunlight, while sitting on a bench in Riverside Park, listening to the sounds of her laugh – a free, uninhibited laugh –they were almost something.

When he spontaneously decided to drive two hours on that cold, March night to see her, even though they were both exhausted and all the nearby coffee shops were closed, they were almost something.

When he told her that he felt a particular, palpable energy coursing through the air between them, they were almost something.

When they had meaningful and complex and deep conversations, they were almost something.

When he smiled when she felt like crying; when he lifted her spirits, they were almost something.

When he called her at one in the morning, with vulnerability dangling from every word, his voice stripped down and earnest, they were almost something.

When he told her that she is…

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