The Zephyr came to me and showed me the way.

At least, that’s what R thinks.

And maybe it’s true. I met the Zephyr when I was headstrong, fine. I thought so anyway.

It was a chilly November night. We talked for hours. When he kissed me I felt all of my armor fall down in a heap at my feet.

I asked him to come back to my apartment. We sat on the couch and made out. He was an exceptional kisser. His heart was in his mouth and I swallowed it whole, and then some. Everything he did surprised me. His fingers were filled with electricity and my body was a conduit. It was intense, he was intense. I’ve never wanted someone so much. I was intellectually, creatively and emotionally turned on by him. I was soaking wet.

He was beautiful. Looking I mean. There was something else though. He was sweet like a child. Completely open, not stranded on an island of fear, not guarding himself the way we all do using whatever vehicle necessary to protect ourselves. He was just strong in himself. He was a good man.

Later, I was on the train and he crossed my mind. Instantly and involuntarily I was wet.

The Zephyr appeared in the sky and showed me the way and not for nothing, he made me happy.