sort of kindred spirits

About three years ago today, I was sitting on the couch with this ridiculously good looking guy. My mind was absolutely reeling with my self-consciousness.

Am I sitting too close? Does he know that our knees are touching? Did I just say something stupid? Does he care that our knees are touching? Should I pretend like I understand the baseball stuff that he's talking about? Does he like that our knees are touching as much as I like it?

Three years later (fourteen months of which were spent as "just friends") and, thankfully, I no longer overanalyze my every move. And while Mike and I have both changed over the years, we are still very much the same.

[May 2006 and January 2009]

p.s. the "kindred spirits" quote that is the title is from a poem I wrote.