I had company on Friday night; he stayed until Saturday afternoon. He brought all the necessary ingredients for stir fry with linguine, a bottle of cabernet, popsicles, and a new toothbrush. After he left, I found the toothbrush resting on my bathroom counter, neatly tucked back into its opened package. I haven't moved it yet. It's been a very long time since someone stationed a sleepover toothbrush at my place.

After dinner (which he cooked), we lay in bed and watched Netflix for a while before going to sleep. He held me all night, lifting the covers for me to climb under when I'd hop back from the bathroom. In the morning we watched more Netflix. I didn't tell him that I'd continued watching Orange is The New Black without him - that I had in fact finished the season. I played dumb and feigned surprise and bit my tongue when he made predictions about the storyline. We ate slushy push up pops that he brought back to bed for us, comparing flavors. We fell back asleep listening to Angus Stone, then woke up and ate more popsicles.

His eyes are bluer than seems reasonable, and looking straight in them for more than a few seconds at a time feels like some kind of theft. Like I'm stealing something I haven't been given the right to even borrow. He reminds me very much of me: in his temperament, in his sense of humor, in the mixture of cynicism about relationships that I sense in our conversations and the optimism about them demonstrated by his actual behavior. When I think about the effort he's putting into spending time with me, considering how far away he lives and works, and how much he has going on in his life at the moment (he's in the middle of planning a huge charity event as well as trying to find a new place to live), and how limited I am without a car - or even two working feet - I find myself a little bit shocked and lot grateful.

It's been a long time since I felt something other than casual ambivalence from a guy.

It's a really nice change.

That being the case, I can feel protective walls going up. This isn't some dude I picked up or was picked up by, and from whom I expect - and want - very little. This isn't someone who's treating me like an option. This is someone I've been spending time with here and there, and getting to know incrementally, and who's making me feel like he's enjoying it as much as I am. I hope it continues, and in the interest of keeping it special and letting it unfold as naturally as possible, I'm going to give it - and him - some privacy. Maybe not blackout curtains, because this is my life, too, and blogging is a part of it - but sheers, anyway. Something to pull open or shut as feels right and respectful.

One of the reasons I blog is I love commemorating the events and people that make an impression on me - the things I don't want to forget. But it's a fine line to walk sometimes, because the places where my experiences intersect with those of others - those are shared spaces that don't belong to me alone. This is me edging up to that line, to remind myself that it's there and real and should be minded.

Some light, some shadow - nothing too clearly defined or exposed, in this particular room in the metaphorical fishbowl that constitutes my life: sheers.