catalyst, n.
It surprised me — surprises me still — that you were the first one to say it.
I was innocent, in a way, expecting those three words to appear boldface with music. But instead, it was such an ordinary moment: The movie
was over, and I stood up to turn off the TV. A few minutes had passed from the end of the final credits, and we’d been sitting there on the couch,
your legs over mine, the side of your hand touching the side of my hand. The video stopped and the screen turned blue. “I’ll get it,” I said, and was
halfway to the television when you said, “I love you.”
I never asked, but I’ll always wonder: What was it about that moment that made you realize it? Or, if you’d known it for awhile, what compelled
you to say it then? It was welcome, so welcome, and in my rush to say that I loved you, too, I left the television on, I let that light bathe us for a little
longer, as I returned to the couch, to you. We held there for awhile, not really sure what would happen next.
