Past Tense: what it was for me.

"It's a full moon tonight. I hope you don't try to make this all awkward and romantic," I tell him, glancing at the illuminated blue circle hanging low over my apartment complex.

We are going to the beach. The same one I've walked along with five other guys who all seemed to believe they were recreating that beach scene that every old school love movie seems to have. What I meant by my words was that I hope he didn't try to make it all awkward by being romantic. I don't want my life to be anything like those predictable movies. He missed it though. Both my words and their meaning. I sigh, too annoyed to repeat myself. He never gets it. I wish the moon would go away.

We get to the beach and I hope he starts discussing whatever he wants to talk about. Instead,we walk along the main street. He pulls out his camera, ready to take pictures of anything light and inspiring. I automatically melt into the background, not wanting to disturb him and happy that I have a moment to myself before the impending awkwardness. He stops to snap a picture of something and I continue walking. After a few steps I turn around to see him poised, camera to his eye, ready to take a picture of me. I look up and realize that I'm standing under a lamp that's emanating an unusually soft white glow. He's inspired. I want to kick myself for walking under the light. I quickly turn my back. I don't want to be in the picture. I don't want to be his inspiration. I don't tell him this. I make him think that I'm worried about how the picture will turn out. He assures my false worries. I laugh. The camera snaps.

We start walking again. The street seems darker, more deserted, less frequented at night. Apprehensive, I move closer to him. He grabs my left hand and our fingers interlock. His hand is so big! I feel like we don't fit at all. Even our hands aren't compatible. I try to remember if I ever shared a happier version of this moment with the former. Yes. We were walking along the beach, the moon high, our fingers interlaced. His hands weren't small, but it just felt right. We just felt right.

I want to sigh, but I know how expressive that action can be, so I hold it in, let my body absorb the frustration and pull my mind back to the awkwardness of the present.