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You Don’t Even Want to Know the Nicknames We Used to Wish Each Other a Happy Anniversary This Morning

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Today marks the third anniversary of the day Kamran and I met at S’MAC in the East Village for macaroni, cheese, and a first date for the ages. I wore a black hoodie and old jeans because I thought I wasn’t going to care to impress him, and he said things like, “I spent the past six years living in New Jersey,” when he meant, “I spent the past six years earning my PH.D. FROM PRINCETON.” Afterward, he charmed the pants off of me (not literally) by taking me for drinks at a bar with red velvet furniture and telling me all about his guilty pleasure bands.

As we parted at the train station later, he said, “I’ll call you,” and I said, “Thanks for taking me out,” and he said, “The pleasure was mine,” which seemed really slick and grown-up at the time but would later turn out to be something he says on a daily basis. I gave him a hug to signal that he had my permission to run the hell away and never call me again, but he said, “I’m still going to wait until your train comes.” I said, “But we’ve already said goodbye! Now we’re gonna be all awkward.” He asked, “What’s better than two goodbyes?”, and I said, “No goodbyes.” Sexy!

Most days feel just as exciting as that first one did, and the days that don’t feel exciting still feel full of a deep, understanding love that I couldn’t even imagine until I met him but now probably take for granted because it feels like such a part of me. Even after three years, it still seems like our time together has just begun, and I hope that we end up just like the eternal embrace skeletons.

Even if it’s just because we strangled each other to death.