Tequila and Tea

There’s a little street corner in my town—innocent, ordinary. The kind of place where the bakery smell drifts through the air and old trucks rumble past with dogs hanging out the windows. It doesn’t scream romance.

And yet… three times in 2025, that very spot has become the almost-moment.
Three different men.
Three almost-kisses.
One weird energetic vortex.

It was winter. He leaned in too fast, and I leaned back too far. We both laughed nervously and pretended we weren’t freezing. I left wondering if he meant it—or if he just didn’t know what else to do with the silence.

The Second:
Early spring. A gentle conversation about books turned into a long pause. Eye contact. A shift forward. Then a truck rolled by blasting country music and broke the spell. “Maybe next time,” he said, and there wasn’t one.

The Third:
Just weeks ago. This one lingered. A hand on my shoulder. A moment that stretched. But something in my body whispered, not this one either. And so we stood there—two adults, full of longing and caution—suspended on the corner of Almost.

I started to wonder: is this corner cursed? Blessed? A romantic liminal space where desire shows up but commitment takes the scenic route?

Or is it me? Learning, perhaps, that just because chemistry shows up doesn’t mean I have to follow it down the alley of nostalgia and unmet needs. That maybe the universe isn’t testing me… it’s training me. To wait. To listen. To feel what’s true—not just what’s tempting.

The older I get, the more I know this: kisses are not just kisses.
They are contracts. Energetic exchanges. Invitations.
And maybe, sometimes, restraint is the most romantic thing of all.

Mantra: I honor the pause. I trust the timing. I let desire deepen into discernment.

Journal Prompt: What have my “almost moments” taught me about my desires, my boundaries, and what I’m truly ready to receive?