Fate fell short this time.

I wish I met her sooner.

The morning I left, I went over to her apartment. We’d known each other for 12 days.

We had met at the same crumbly bar I used to frequent in undergrad, years prior. We stayed up ’til 4AM that night, chatting and kissing and laughing aimlessly for hours on end. We promised each other that this wasn’t our usual first-night-meeting-someone routines. I had somewhere to be the next morning, but I couldn’t be bothered, it was worth it. I’ve found when I feel that desire to stay up way too late with friends, new or old, it’s usually worth it.

I knocked on her door. She answered and let me in. It was early, and I had to be on my way out of town in less than an hour. Less than an hour. That’s how much I had before we had to say goodbye.

I kept moving my sunglasses from the collar of my shirt to the top of my head to my pocket, nervously trying to hold it together. This girl was a stranger two weeks ago, and now I couldn’t bear the thought of walking out the door, away from her. It felt like we had gotten to know each other in warp speed.

But I inevitably did leave. We kissed goodbye, and I wiped tears from my eyes, then finally put on my sunglasses.

I wish I met her sooner. I don’t know if that would’ve changed anything, but I wish I did. But I’m glad I met her, despite the circumstances.

“I started playing that game I play when I’m feeling lonely, the one where I review all of my prior relationships, marveling that so many sweet, smart, pretty girls have come into my life and that I’ve found a way to fuck things up with every one of them,” — Davy Rothbart