Nice To Meet You. Again.

I stayed in and instead of doing homework or obsessively running lines I talked to my roommates.  Now don't get me wrong - it's not as though I usually ignore them or there is some sort of tension.  Nor are we all particularly quiet people. . .

But life is busy.  It's so busy.  Especially the way we each choose to live it, all of us some combination of taking maximum credits, being on Dean's List, performing in at least one show, being involved with two or three, working one or two jobs, and juggling long (and well loved) lists of friends and even trying to squeeze in things like hobbies, the gym, etc.  And while they are a couple, and in all of the same classes, and happen to be performing in the same show (I am doing lighting for it and haven't been at rehearsals yet, not for another few days) I am in none of their classes. And I'm won't be onstage with them.  So even though we share this apartment - these couches, cabinets, and chores - and even though we see each other on a daily basis, and even though we're truly close friends sometimes we become the proverbial ships in the night, passing each other on our separate voyages.  

Me stumbling groggily to the kettle while he fumbles for the coffee maker.  Nods of acknowledgement.  "How was your day," "oh good xyz happened, yours?" "mmm," exchanged between her and I.  Notes as though written by phantoms, left in the place of a roommate  as reminders for cable and keys, thanks for thoughtful gestures, questions about schedules.

To put a face to the notes again: to let my eyes really see the lines of his jaw and the quirk of his eyebrows when he's amused or the twist of them when he's contemplating.  To readjust to the sight of how beautiful she really is, how lovely and glowing and the way any interesting conversation animates her.  

 Falling into each other's cadences again, and remembering why we chose to live together in the first place: the quirks and oddities and habits, the ticks and jokes and ideas that made us think forming a little home, a little family, together in this apartment was a good idea.

She & I laying on beds, feet in the air, sweat pants on and make up off, fantasizing about how to spend a trillion dollars.

Sitting on counter tops across from each other, my legs criss crossed and pulled to my chest while his long ones hang over the edge, discussing nothing at all with total seriousness and earnestness.  

Stopping the busy to find each other, and going to bed remembering why we came together to begin with.  

I suddenly and more clearly appreciate what people mean when they say "making time for each other." or "taking the time to get reacquainted," with someone.  Relationships - even the most secure, the most steady, the most even and gentle and the ones that can be reduced to grunts over coffee and nods over homework - require special love and care and tending.  Tonight has inspired me to take the time more often to simply speak, with no intention other than a.) to be heard and then b.) to listen intently and freely and without any other objective.  It is amazing what you can learn, even about the people you share the most intimate parts of your life with, this way.