He turned up on my doorstep - surfboard still attached to his shoulders - and told me that on New Years Eve all he could think about was how he didn't want to start a year without me in it. About how it wasn't worth celebrating if I wasn't there too. About how he wanted to end the next one with me.
That's kind of what happened, anyway.
"So," I said, after a few minutes of confused greetings (starting with: "what the hell are you doing here?"). "You miss me, huh."
"Yeah," he replied.
"And," I said - eyes softening slightly and gazing at a particularly twinkly star in the sky - "are you here because on New Years Eve all you could think about was how you didn't want a year without me in it?"
There was a pause.
"Sure," he agreed.
"Was it worth celebrating if I wasn't there too?" I asked him.
He shrugged.
"No," he affirmed.
"And I guess you want to end the next one with me, right?" I told him.
"Uhuh," he answered.
"I thought so," I said happily, pleased with how romantic the situation was. Then I frowned at him. "What else?" I added.
"Can I put my surfboard down now, please? It's hurting my back."
So I let him in, and he dumped all his stuff all over my flat and then told me it was still 'a total mess'.
"What did you do at New Year?" he asked casually, roaming around and looking worryingly like he was going to start peeing in all the corners.
"Big party," I told him without looking him in the eye, knowing he doesn't read this blog. "Huge. Massive. Maybe the biggest party in the whole world ever." Then I realised I had gone too far, and tried to pull it back a little. "One of them, anyway," I corrected. "So.... what else did you want to tell me?"
He got on his knees and poked his head in my fridge.
"Dunno," he said to a half rotten aubergine. "Guess I realised that there's nobody else like you." Then he prodded something at the back of the fridge and launched into a scolding ("seriously, how do you actually function on your own? What is this? How long has it been there? Why is it moving?").
The problem with romance is that a lot of it is in your head, and the other problem with romance is that a lot of it stays there. But when it boils down to it, what really counts? That you find someone who thinks you're like nobody else. And - with billions of people in the world, all pretty similar - that's maybe all you need.
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