Is there a broader significance to these ever-transient interactions with him, and the Hitchcock Lounge group as a whole? If there is, I will not look into it much. My awareness of them cross my mind like a quiet breeze, so quiet I might not have heard them at all. It is a stark change from my turmoil in Winter quarter.
Knowing the Hitchcock Lounge group are not my people brings, instead of fear and sticky attachment, a drifting peace and even contentedness like a leaf over water. Now I make peace with the ones that are nearby. Sasha and Richard at length; and in brief, Shruti, Ava, Ezra, Dharmesh. Imperfect sources, but sufficient. I have grown into my own desires: a craving for functional design, a thirst for the structures and functions of the brain and mind, a telegraphic conviction and diction that seems to bleed into my own real-life speech. Clearly I have not watched enough sitcoms.
Micah is a sweet young man with a scruff and clear blue eyes and boyish streak. Little has changed about him since our infrequent interactions; my feelings have, however. I haven't talked to him enough to really know who he is, what he likes and dislikes, what his plans for the future are. I'm not sure I especially want to know, beyond a polite acquaintance's small talk — and wasn't that what it was, that first time we talked 1-on-1 during Jurassic Park movie night? Yearn no more, heart; flutter no more, stomach; this is yet another man. I just don't have a strong crush on him anymore. I don't have any expectations for him.