Soho Guy... he is asleep right next to me at this very moment. On my couch at home in L.A.
Where to begin? He visited me, I saw him in NY, he flew to L.A. and that was that... He decided to stay - had movers pack all his shit in Manhatten, and has been crashing with me. He found an apartment less than a mile away so I could fel comfortable going to and from work and confident with moving in some day.
Whoa, does he move fast . But for some odd reason, I'm not scared.
I lied. I'm scared shitless. I'm doing that thing I do so well; test after test to see what will make this amazing guy leave, because they all do, right? But this one seems like the real deal. For some reason, he likes me. Not just love, he likes me. My psychotic exploits, idiosyncrasies, meaningless argumentative "points", stubborn antics, awful morning attitude - the whole shabang, if you will.
I've never felt so okay with being so not-ok.
It's amazing how obvious the simplicities of happiness become once it's in your possession.
He is snoring. It's annoying. And I could actually wake him up and tell him, and he wouldn't be angry.
......
Right again.
......
We fit, and things are going to change. I feel it.
I should probably stop calling him Soho guy... but alas, a label is a label, and so it sticks. I hope someday I can shed some of my own.
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