Let’s Not...

Let's not meet for lunch today. You will ask me about my day, my kids, my thoughts, my life. And you'll listen. I'll make you laugh, probably with one of our inside jokes or a goofy story said with a straight face and just enough truth to make you suspend disbelief for a moment before I surprise you with a punch line. We'll linger a bit too long for a business lunch before ending it with anticlimactic well-wishes, leaving the gods or the angels or the nosy waitress or whoever is watching wanting for more.

Let's not carpool to the conference. You'll sit in the front seat and completely take over the stereo, making fun of my sappy playlists and playing half of each song before continually changing the selection as you get excited about the next tune. Then you'll switch it over to your phone to continue my education on what "real music" is, telling me stories about the artists, their inspiration, and when they broke up or died or changed the band name. You'll get misty when the right song comes up, then tell me a memory. We'll laugh and we'll stop for the bathroom twice because you'll drink too much coffee and we'll gossip about our co-workers. We'll arrive and linger a bit too long getting out of the car, wanting for more.

Let's not text anymore. I'll send a meme or GIF that I know will make you literally laugh aloud, then you'll reply with a video I "just have to watch", probably a goat or an otter or someone getting hurt doing something stupid. I'll get serious at some point and will tell you that you're kind and fun and delightful, and you'll reply with the word "smile" instead of an emoji. I love that. Then we'll say goodnight but we won't want to stop texting and I'll re-read our conversation before turning off my phone for the night, wanting for more.

Let's not fall in love. The office and the kids and our different views on politics and religion and Reese's Pieces VS Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Michigan VS Michigan State and how important it is to turn paperwork in on time... it's just too messy. How would you explain me to your mother? Or our boss? Or our waitress, who we already told that we're just co-workers. You're perfect, you know? Perfect. And maybe it's too late. But let's not. Even if it means we're left wanting for more.