  We started off the evening by going to a bar that I knew all of my friends were going to be at. I hated every minute of it; I didn't’ want to share him with them. God knows I love my new found friends to no end, but I share so much of my day, my life, my room, my meals, my school, and my nights with them. Michael was the only thing that was all mine in Spain. I didn't’t want to share. Call it childish, but having him all to myself made me feel like I had a little piece of home.
We quickly said our goodbyes to my friends and I finally had him all to myself again. Michael, my new friend, and now my little piece of home. We went to a great salsa club, sitting down at what we claimed to be “ "the best seats in this here place". We got into a more personal, a more deep, and a more fun conversation. The words “I wish you didn't’ have a boyfriend” hit me like cannon ball to the stomach.
I could have just picked myself up, dusted myself off, and ended it right then and there. I did not end it; instead, I just smiled politely, and lowered my head as if I had just been told an embarrassing compliment. What was I doing there with him? I knew he liked me. I once again asked myself why I was dancing with him, and why I was smiling. What was it about him that night that made me stay for as long as I did? Was it the way we found it humorous how we both walked at the same fast-pace around the cold city? Was it the way the light hit his face when we were on that ledge looking over the city, or the bridge looking over the river? I think I knew what it was that sent me over the edge so-to-speak. It’s really is strange how a common interest in music can bond people together. He knew and loved all of my favorite music artists, and even worse, knew all of the lyrics to my favorite songs.
We walked arm in arm together around the city singing quite loudly to random songs. I had never met a guy who without even trying, sang so well. I could have listened to him serenade to me for days. I did not want the night to end, but we were heading so near to my apartment, that I had to think of something. So, to stretch the night out, and inevitably get myself into more emotional trouble then I already had, I brought down a handful of CD's and a portable CD player.
What the hell was I thinking? Music had an intoxicating effect on me with him. We walked to a small secluded park by my place and I showed him my music. Every song sounded better than the next with him next to me. REALITY CHECK: What is a girl who is crazy in love with her boyfriend, back at home, doing with a guy that she just met no more than two days before, in a park, at 3 in the morning, listening to romantic music?
I asked myself that question dozens of times that night, hoping that it would knock some sense into me, but it failed. Songs with titles like "Your Body is a Wonderland", "Nearness of You", and "Come Away with Me" drove me to want to bite my tongue off after asking him to dance with me. But turned out, I didn't want to be anywhere in the world but there, listening to the timeless sounds of Norah Jones while I was slow dancing in circles with Michael underneath a tree. For hours and hours we danced underneath that tree, so much that we made a mock "crop circle", it surprised us, we laughed, and kept dancing. It started to rain, but all it did was make me want to get closer. My cheeks would barely caress his face. I feared making eye contact for too long. Tears secretly ran down my face. I got closer to Michael that night then I had ever gotten close to any other man since my first date with my boyfriend. I never thought that I would be here; I never thought that I would do this. It had been less than two weeks since I said goodbye to the love of my life at the airport.
And here I was, having the most fun that I had on this trip since. I had a split personality mentality throughout the entire night. One part of me wanted nothing more than to dance with him, hold him, touch his skin, and gently kiss those lips all night long.
Then the other part of me wanted nothing more than to run away, take my music, and run my ass home, and hope that I never see this intoxicating, hypnotic man ever again. I stayed, and had the most horribly great time of my life. My Norah Jones CD had never sounded so romantic, it had also never been played so many times consecutively, poor CD, poor Michael for having to walk home at eight in the morning, and poor me for being left along with my thoughts, my guilt, my desires. You'd think that I would have learned from that night. You would think. Oh but no. I was right there with him again, a couple of nights later.
. . . . .
To be continued 
