Aborigen

“I’m not looking for an angel,” I sang to myself, watching snowy yards race past the PRT window. “I’m not hoping for a dream.” I didn’t know the words very well so I went ba-ba-ba-baah until I got back to “I’m not looking for an angel.” But the tune was catchy and I woke up with it in my head, so what else could I do.

Apparently it snowed last night. It won’t stay, once the sun comes up, but it definitely reminded me of how fast time was racing. Seems like just yesterday I met Karmen at the State Fair, but it also seemed like a world ago. Dinners, movies, nights in, texting late into the night… I shook my head. I was acting like a damned kid. It felt good, don’t get me wrong. It was nice to experience that kind of passion and enthusiasm again, the giddiness in the beginning of a relationship (when you’re pretty sure it’s reciprocal). I just couldn’t shake, in quiet moments like this, that I should be too old to fall for that again.