you got me so wet, then you left me swimming
So here is my newest piece. I have been working on the concept for quite some time- just couldn't find the right inspiration to execute it. It is fiction, I think!
Feel free to write back with commentary, it is still a work in progress.
DAY1
as soon as your hands reach my skin I feel raw all over again.
breathe.
I inhale your skin and it all starts coming back to me.
You touch every inch of me to make it worth your while.
I'm not even there. I'm so wrapped up in my head I'm somewhere else, but my body is laying there- next to you.
I'm so full of Jameson that it's seeping out of my pores and your practically taking body shots off me.
I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me, to be lying here next to you, stranger.
I feel like the appropriate reaction after realizing this would be to cry, but I'm too empty.
I'm waving my arms while I'm drowning in your ocean.
I'm screaming inside of myself because I can't find the words to do it out loud yet.
I'm so full of you at this point I feel like I could puke.
I start to wonder what is going in the city as I lay in this strangers bed, would I have been better off staying at the bar?
I just want to forget everything about today, and luckily enough the equation of heavy pouring and steady drinking should provide a decent outcome of such.
DAY2
You called. Maybe because you felt obligated, or maybe you haven't had your fill of me yet.
I want to stop the conversation and just tell you- I am a mess, you don't want to clean up.
But I don't. I feel surprised to hear from you- even though I'm pretty sure that my goal for today was to try to forget you.
I indulge in this useless conversation- What's one more night when you've already thrown away everything sacred?
We meet in a pretentious dark bar, our waitress was a bitch. I'm sick of this place.
Walking through your neighborhood while my inhibitions slowly start to get the best of me and I know what's coming next.
More wine. More useless conversation.
We're sitting on your bed now. You're trying to impress me with your knowledge of early 90s grunge rock.
I'm trying to pretend like I am not impressed, and that this is so sophomore year of you.
But I let myself indulge in the fact that maybe you're not so bad after all?
You lean over and start to kiss me.
I can't tell if you mean it, or if the wine has gotten the best of us- yet again.
Next thing I know I'm laying there staring at the ceiling again as you do your best to pull any ounce of emotion from my mouth.
It's not going to happen, as far as I'm concerned I feel half dead.
DAY3
Today all I am concentrating on is "DONT THINK."
Do not scramble this, do not analyze. Do not question. Do not wonder. Do not do anything at all.
I grab some hash and roll a joint. Better to start the recovery process before it's even necessary.
I'm sprawled out on my couch watching satire comedy when you call.
I stare at the phone and let it ring. I try to think of why you're calling me.
It didn't mean anything. It's okay- you don't have to call me.
My phone starts barking. The message reads "Why did you leave last night?"
I think- "Why would I have stayed?"
I left the first night, why would night2 be any different? Did you want me to stay? Why?
Are you like me? Hate the empty space in your bed? Willing to fill the void with any person whose willing to do the walk of shame in the morning?
Ugh.
The whole purpose of today is to shut my brain off and you are really fucking that up for me right now.
Why couldn't you be normal and wake up, and not wonder why the fuck I am not in your bed.
WHO CARES?!
Hours roll by and I'm sure that if you're as predictable as I think you're starting to be- you're going to call again. And you do.
More alcohol? Sure- why not?
I make sure that this time I do not end up in your bed as to avoid the awkward texts messages in the morning.
You seem upset, but that's okay with me.
The conversation takes an awkward turn. But I'm not surprised- because you drank whiskey.
Unfortunately I only drink Irish whiskey, and you thought I might be impressed by Makers Mark- But I'm not.
So I leave you- with your empty bed, your unfilled void, and hopefully a little bit of intriguing confusion.
I get lost on my way home from your house- at night everything looks the same in southwest.
The fucking woods.
The road seems to go over about six mountains, the continuation of hills is making my ears pop.
I'm smoking a cigarette trying to wrap my head around you.
Then I stop- because I think maybe it's better to try and not figure you out.
I start thinking back to our meeting in the coffee shop. What book were you reading? All I can remember is that we were both drinking espresso on the rocks- and I remember thinking anybody who takes their coffee the same way as I do has to be worth having a drink with.
When I was younger- I would have thought this fate.
Now- We're just two strangers that take their coffee the same way.
I really want to try hard to remember what the name of that book was, but I can't.
If you call tomorrow, I'll ask you.
DAY4
I'm driving home from work and there are no missed calls. I wonder to myself if our charade is over because I didn't give into you last night.
I'm staring at the mountains, I turn my music up as loud as I can- trying to drown out my brain.
I don't want to start feeling like I'm wanting you to call.
By the time I reach my exit I decide that maybe I will call you for a change.
You don't answer, I do my best to leave as casual and uncaring message as I can muster.
In the next hour this is what runs through my head.
"Maybe he's at work. Or maybe he just got home from work and is in the shower. Maybe he has a girlfriend that he is hanging out with right now that has been out of town for the past three nights and now our time of dark smoky bars and sex with punk rock music in the background has come to a screeching halt. Ugh,
Why are you doing this to yourself? You cringe when you see his name creep across phone, you reluctantly answer his calls each time. Are you really trying to decipher what he could possibly be doing right now that would prevent him from answering your phone call? No, I got it! Maybe he thinks that I am trying to
be mysterious by being distant and not sleeping over like a normal girl and he thinks that the only way to win me over is to come right back at me with these trivial mind games." And so on...
Until- you call. And all at once I feel satisfied that I haven't run you off yet.
You sound pleased that I called, and I ask if you would like to go have a drink.
By now I think anyone would be wondering at what point does this situation unravel from a one night mistake?
DAY5
I wake up, in my own bed.
I managed to elude him the night before, yet again, and escape to the comfort and spaciousness of my apartment before the sun came creeping in.
Last night I had what some might call....a breaking point?
Right after we finished letting our inhibitions, or hormones, get the best of us- I abruptly sprang from your bed in search of my clothes.
I grabbed my keys and was JUST about to be out of sight when you rose and inquired as to why I was leaving.
I tried to be effortless and tell you some lie about how I am a hopeless insomniac.
I have night terrors. A phobia of sleeping in unfamiliar places. And so on.
He pleaded for me to stay, just for tonight. I refused.
"I reeally can't. It's not you, it's me. Really! I won't sleep. I have work in the morning. I HAVE TO GO."
He really started to piss me off when he said something along the lines of "If you don't stay I will never forgive you."
Oh, please. Is that a promise or a threat?
A threat. Okay, well let it be an empty one. Because let me tell you I have no problem letting this go.
If I never saw you again, it would not break me. I would NOT be upset.
So I'm leaving now, and if you call...you call..if you don't. FINE.
Today I do not question whether I should have stayed, or what he thinks of me for leaving.
DAY6
"Bottom Feeders".
That was the name of the book you were reading in the coffee shop the day we first met.
I remembered finally, no thanks to my supposed photographic memory.
I haven't heard from you in close to three days. So technically I believe we are on DAY9.
I've run it over through my head a million times- trying to think of all the possibilities of what is driving you to not call.
The most logical reason I have come up with is that all my running from you- has run you off.
I thought to myself "I should have just sucked it up and spent the night."
But then you would think I was a co-dependent clingy girl who wants to change you and run you off the players field and push you behind a white picket fence and slap rings on our fingers.
And I mean, lets face it, what girl ISNT trying to do that?
However, I am trying to be a girl from a different breed these days.
I just want to meet someone who accepts that I am on the verge of being an alien to the female species.
I am self proclaimed, but only in the privacy of my own head, to be insane.
Not insane in the way that I am capable of murder, or monumental deceit...more like the insanity that I believe Dali dealt with.
The insanity that captures you because you are just too strung out on thinking, analyzing, and second guessing.
The kind of insanity that one of the best artists in the world faced when looking at a masterpiece and thinking to themselves "I suck."
In any case- I would really appreciate a phone call.
Just a little heads up as to what is going on in that ball sack of a brain you men tend to have.
Am I annoying? A bad drunk? The sex not satisfying enough? You're freaked out that things are progressing too quickly?
I mean really, WHAT IS IT ABOUT ME THAT IS MAKING YOU NOT PICK UP THE PHONE AND DIAL MY PHONE NUMBER AND ASK ME OUT ON ANOTHER DATE.
I'm normally not this obsessive, I swear! You are making me this way with your stupid games.
Can't we just be adults about this?
Clearly the name of your current read is not some entertaining novel or political esquire...but a How-to-Manual on how to be just like every other stereotypical asshole male, and lead a girl to believing you are worth her time, and getting her in the sack- only to cease and desist contact five days after the fact.
I guess this is where the expression "flavor of the week" came from.
DAY6
Today I had an epiphany.
Men only don't call you for two reasons...
One- You were a mistake, one to be learned from.
Two- You want to be his girlfriend.
Surely, I am neither of the two.
So here I sit, perplexed...when all at once- it came to me!
No man, and I mean NO man, can ignore you when they look down at thier phone and see these precious five words.
The reason a man cannot resist these simple, yet extremely empowering, five words is because they were born as nature intended them.
You know, that little tail they tuck between their legs whenever they can tame it enough to keep it from wandering outside their pants.
"I want to fuck you."
Sometimes I like to embellish the phrase with a "so bad"
"I want to fuck you so bad right now."
If I had to place a bet, I say he calls within the hour, if not within the minute.
And you do.
Not even sixty seconds after I send you that message my phone starts doing a fucking mexican hat dance in my pocket.
Oh, how convienent that you should call me now after my three or four day affair with your answering machine.
I was hoping I would not have to resort to that this early on, but whatever.
Your voice is surprised, nervous, and you have been drinking- I hope.
"Um, so...I got your text message, and I think there is something you should know..."
You're still talking, explaining what you're about to say, even though you haven't actually said it yet.
I'm not listening anymore because I'm trying to think of what it is that you "think I should know."
You have a girlfriend?
You have herpes?
You have....something, that I don't want you to have?
Okay, I give up, what is it that you think I should know...before I come over to have sex.
And then you said it.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. Or rather- I'm not sure how you thought it was completely imperitive that you make me aware of the obvious before I come over...but in anycase I decide to come over anyways, because I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted to fuck you so bad.
DAY7
It's not really DAY7 I think it's actually been almost a week and a half since our first meeting.
And, actually, I am on my way home from your house right now.
No thanks to my insomnia, I accidently fell asleep with your arm slung over me all sloppy and drunk like.
My clothes are scattered about your bedroom floor, waiting for me to slip into them and sneak out like some rebellious teenager.
I think to myself, maybe we should just keep your bedroom window open.
On my way home I let myself realize something that had kept slipping from my brain after all these nights.
You are the devil incarnate. For whatever reason your tramp stamp had illuded me our previous encounters.
Among his other slew of bad adolecent body art of beer logos and cartoon faces- He has 666 tatooed on the small of his back.
I am not joking.
DAY8
I keep thinking I'm not going to call you anymore.
I don't know why really...you're just kind of fading out for me lately.
Actually, that's a lie.
I have decided I am going to make a point to force myself to not call you because you are a pig.
Not that being a pig makes you unlike the rest of the male species.
But you, in particular, leave a sour taste in my mouth.
That could be for several different reasons, but I'm more refering to the figure of speech.
I decided that from now on, for the sake of my documentation of you- I'm going to call you Lucifer.
Partly because of your tramp stamp, but mostly because it's really funny.
I keep thinking about what you said to me the other night on the phone.
You know me, running things through and through over and over.
At first, I was insulted. I mean truly offended by that.
And now, I'm thinking...well maybe that's not so bad.
I mean that's pretty much the way things were headed anyways, right?
I don't know if it was completely necessary for us to have a sit down talk about what we're doing.
But today I am okay. I'm ok with you, with our situation, and with whether or not you decide to return my calls or what have you.
DAY9
I went to Stumptown today with some guy I met in the bar when you weren't answering my calls.
I sat at the table catty corner to where we sat that one day.
If this guy shows up, and is a total bomb, I don't want to be sitting in our spot.
I sip my chai tea and stare at the chair I was sitting in when we had our only enlightening conversation.
You know- the one that made me go have that one drink with you.
The one drink that led to two bottles of wine, and us having sex.
The leather seat is torn and masked with silver tape and is ratty, but somehow I don't remember it looking so uncomfortable before I sat down there.
I stare off into that corner for so long that two shadows of us are sitting there talking
And I'm kind of starting to have some kind of wierd out of body experience flashback type shit
I have quite obviously not had enough sleep, and seriously need to stop relying on espresso as my soul energy source and calorie intake.
I'm starting to feel grossly nostalgic, and want time to stop right now so I can spit on it and tell it to fuck off.
If I could, I would go back, be sitting right there across from that tiny intimate table (knowing what I know now) and slap you.
I would slap you and get up, turn on my heels and casually walk to my car.
I wouldn't look back because there would be no reason to.
I am abruptly broken from my day dream because the guy from the bar is now sitting across from me and I have to start having conversation with someone other than myself.
He is not as cute as I remember, naturally.
He is also a lot bigger than I remember.
More shy, and less entertaining.
He's actually not like anything I remember.
That might have something to do with the fact that you're not the guy I met at the bar.
You are a stranger, that took it upon yourself to sit down across from me and start talking.
If I wasn't so hung over I might have noticed earlier, but I'm fucked now.
You think I'm interested because I entertained your pick up line, and now I'm fucked.
You're not going to go away, are you?
Feel free to write back with commentary, it is still a work in progress.
DAY1
as soon as your hands reach my skin I feel raw all over again.
breathe.
I inhale your skin and it all starts coming back to me.
You touch every inch of me to make it worth your while.
I'm not even there. I'm so wrapped up in my head I'm somewhere else, but my body is laying there- next to you.
I'm so full of Jameson that it's seeping out of my pores and your practically taking body shots off me.
I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me, to be lying here next to you, stranger.
I feel like the appropriate reaction after realizing this would be to cry, but I'm too empty.
I'm waving my arms while I'm drowning in your ocean.
I'm screaming inside of myself because I can't find the words to do it out loud yet.
I'm so full of you at this point I feel like I could puke.
I start to wonder what is going in the city as I lay in this strangers bed, would I have been better off staying at the bar?
I just want to forget everything about today, and luckily enough the equation of heavy pouring and steady drinking should provide a decent outcome of such.
DAY2
You called. Maybe because you felt obligated, or maybe you haven't had your fill of me yet.
I want to stop the conversation and just tell you- I am a mess, you don't want to clean up.
But I don't. I feel surprised to hear from you- even though I'm pretty sure that my goal for today was to try to forget you.
I indulge in this useless conversation- What's one more night when you've already thrown away everything sacred?
We meet in a pretentious dark bar, our waitress was a bitch. I'm sick of this place.
Walking through your neighborhood while my inhibitions slowly start to get the best of me and I know what's coming next.
More wine. More useless conversation.
We're sitting on your bed now. You're trying to impress me with your knowledge of early 90s grunge rock.
I'm trying to pretend like I am not impressed, and that this is so sophomore year of you.
But I let myself indulge in the fact that maybe you're not so bad after all?
You lean over and start to kiss me.
I can't tell if you mean it, or if the wine has gotten the best of us- yet again.
Next thing I know I'm laying there staring at the ceiling again as you do your best to pull any ounce of emotion from my mouth.
It's not going to happen, as far as I'm concerned I feel half dead.
DAY3
Today all I am concentrating on is "DONT THINK."
Do not scramble this, do not analyze. Do not question. Do not wonder. Do not do anything at all.
I grab some hash and roll a joint. Better to start the recovery process before it's even necessary.
I'm sprawled out on my couch watching satire comedy when you call.
I stare at the phone and let it ring. I try to think of why you're calling me.
It didn't mean anything. It's okay- you don't have to call me.
My phone starts barking. The message reads "Why did you leave last night?"
I think- "Why would I have stayed?"
I left the first night, why would night2 be any different? Did you want me to stay? Why?
Are you like me? Hate the empty space in your bed? Willing to fill the void with any person whose willing to do the walk of shame in the morning?
Ugh.
The whole purpose of today is to shut my brain off and you are really fucking that up for me right now.
Why couldn't you be normal and wake up, and not wonder why the fuck I am not in your bed.
WHO CARES?!
Hours roll by and I'm sure that if you're as predictable as I think you're starting to be- you're going to call again. And you do.
More alcohol? Sure- why not?
I make sure that this time I do not end up in your bed as to avoid the awkward texts messages in the morning.
You seem upset, but that's okay with me.
The conversation takes an awkward turn. But I'm not surprised- because you drank whiskey.
Unfortunately I only drink Irish whiskey, and you thought I might be impressed by Makers Mark- But I'm not.
So I leave you- with your empty bed, your unfilled void, and hopefully a little bit of intriguing confusion.
I get lost on my way home from your house- at night everything looks the same in southwest.
The fucking woods.
The road seems to go over about six mountains, the continuation of hills is making my ears pop.
I'm smoking a cigarette trying to wrap my head around you.
Then I stop- because I think maybe it's better to try and not figure you out.
I start thinking back to our meeting in the coffee shop. What book were you reading? All I can remember is that we were both drinking espresso on the rocks- and I remember thinking anybody who takes their coffee the same way as I do has to be worth having a drink with.
When I was younger- I would have thought this fate.
Now- We're just two strangers that take their coffee the same way.
I really want to try hard to remember what the name of that book was, but I can't.
If you call tomorrow, I'll ask you.
DAY4
I'm driving home from work and there are no missed calls. I wonder to myself if our charade is over because I didn't give into you last night.
I'm staring at the mountains, I turn my music up as loud as I can- trying to drown out my brain.
I don't want to start feeling like I'm wanting you to call.
By the time I reach my exit I decide that maybe I will call you for a change.
You don't answer, I do my best to leave as casual and uncaring message as I can muster.
In the next hour this is what runs through my head.
"Maybe he's at work. Or maybe he just got home from work and is in the shower. Maybe he has a girlfriend that he is hanging out with right now that has been out of town for the past three nights and now our time of dark smoky bars and sex with punk rock music in the background has come to a screeching halt. Ugh,
Why are you doing this to yourself? You cringe when you see his name creep across phone, you reluctantly answer his calls each time. Are you really trying to decipher what he could possibly be doing right now that would prevent him from answering your phone call? No, I got it! Maybe he thinks that I am trying to
be mysterious by being distant and not sleeping over like a normal girl and he thinks that the only way to win me over is to come right back at me with these trivial mind games." And so on...
Until- you call. And all at once I feel satisfied that I haven't run you off yet.
You sound pleased that I called, and I ask if you would like to go have a drink.
By now I think anyone would be wondering at what point does this situation unravel from a one night mistake?
DAY5
I wake up, in my own bed.
I managed to elude him the night before, yet again, and escape to the comfort and spaciousness of my apartment before the sun came creeping in.
Last night I had what some might call....a breaking point?
Right after we finished letting our inhibitions, or hormones, get the best of us- I abruptly sprang from your bed in search of my clothes.
I grabbed my keys and was JUST about to be out of sight when you rose and inquired as to why I was leaving.
I tried to be effortless and tell you some lie about how I am a hopeless insomniac.
I have night terrors. A phobia of sleeping in unfamiliar places. And so on.
He pleaded for me to stay, just for tonight. I refused.
"I reeally can't. It's not you, it's me. Really! I won't sleep. I have work in the morning. I HAVE TO GO."
He really started to piss me off when he said something along the lines of "If you don't stay I will never forgive you."
Oh, please. Is that a promise or a threat?
A threat. Okay, well let it be an empty one. Because let me tell you I have no problem letting this go.
If I never saw you again, it would not break me. I would NOT be upset.
So I'm leaving now, and if you call...you call..if you don't. FINE.
Today I do not question whether I should have stayed, or what he thinks of me for leaving.
DAY6
"Bottom Feeders".
That was the name of the book you were reading in the coffee shop the day we first met.
I remembered finally, no thanks to my supposed photographic memory.
I haven't heard from you in close to three days. So technically I believe we are on DAY9.
I've run it over through my head a million times- trying to think of all the possibilities of what is driving you to not call.
The most logical reason I have come up with is that all my running from you- has run you off.
I thought to myself "I should have just sucked it up and spent the night."
But then you would think I was a co-dependent clingy girl who wants to change you and run you off the players field and push you behind a white picket fence and slap rings on our fingers.
And I mean, lets face it, what girl ISNT trying to do that?
However, I am trying to be a girl from a different breed these days.
I just want to meet someone who accepts that I am on the verge of being an alien to the female species.
I am self proclaimed, but only in the privacy of my own head, to be insane.
Not insane in the way that I am capable of murder, or monumental deceit...more like the insanity that I believe Dali dealt with.
The insanity that captures you because you are just too strung out on thinking, analyzing, and second guessing.
The kind of insanity that one of the best artists in the world faced when looking at a masterpiece and thinking to themselves "I suck."
In any case- I would really appreciate a phone call.
Just a little heads up as to what is going on in that ball sack of a brain you men tend to have.
Am I annoying? A bad drunk? The sex not satisfying enough? You're freaked out that things are progressing too quickly?
I mean really, WHAT IS IT ABOUT ME THAT IS MAKING YOU NOT PICK UP THE PHONE AND DIAL MY PHONE NUMBER AND ASK ME OUT ON ANOTHER DATE.
I'm normally not this obsessive, I swear! You are making me this way with your stupid games.
Can't we just be adults about this?
Clearly the name of your current read is not some entertaining novel or political esquire...but a How-to-Manual on how to be just like every other stereotypical asshole male, and lead a girl to believing you are worth her time, and getting her in the sack- only to cease and desist contact five days after the fact.
I guess this is where the expression "flavor of the week" came from.
DAY6
Today I had an epiphany.
Men only don't call you for two reasons...
One- You were a mistake, one to be learned from.
Two- You want to be his girlfriend.
Surely, I am neither of the two.
So here I sit, perplexed...when all at once- it came to me!
No man, and I mean NO man, can ignore you when they look down at thier phone and see these precious five words.
The reason a man cannot resist these simple, yet extremely empowering, five words is because they were born as nature intended them.
You know, that little tail they tuck between their legs whenever they can tame it enough to keep it from wandering outside their pants.
"I want to fuck you."
Sometimes I like to embellish the phrase with a "so bad"
"I want to fuck you so bad right now."
If I had to place a bet, I say he calls within the hour, if not within the minute.
And you do.
Not even sixty seconds after I send you that message my phone starts doing a fucking mexican hat dance in my pocket.
Oh, how convienent that you should call me now after my three or four day affair with your answering machine.
I was hoping I would not have to resort to that this early on, but whatever.
Your voice is surprised, nervous, and you have been drinking- I hope.
"Um, so...I got your text message, and I think there is something you should know..."
You're still talking, explaining what you're about to say, even though you haven't actually said it yet.
I'm not listening anymore because I'm trying to think of what it is that you "think I should know."
You have a girlfriend?
You have herpes?
You have....something, that I don't want you to have?
Okay, I give up, what is it that you think I should know...before I come over to have sex.
And then you said it.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. Or rather- I'm not sure how you thought it was completely imperitive that you make me aware of the obvious before I come over...but in anycase I decide to come over anyways, because I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted to fuck you so bad.
DAY7
It's not really DAY7 I think it's actually been almost a week and a half since our first meeting.
And, actually, I am on my way home from your house right now.
No thanks to my insomnia, I accidently fell asleep with your arm slung over me all sloppy and drunk like.
My clothes are scattered about your bedroom floor, waiting for me to slip into them and sneak out like some rebellious teenager.
I think to myself, maybe we should just keep your bedroom window open.
On my way home I let myself realize something that had kept slipping from my brain after all these nights.
You are the devil incarnate. For whatever reason your tramp stamp had illuded me our previous encounters.
Among his other slew of bad adolecent body art of beer logos and cartoon faces- He has 666 tatooed on the small of his back.
I am not joking.
DAY8
I keep thinking I'm not going to call you anymore.
I don't know why really...you're just kind of fading out for me lately.
Actually, that's a lie.
I have decided I am going to make a point to force myself to not call you because you are a pig.
Not that being a pig makes you unlike the rest of the male species.
But you, in particular, leave a sour taste in my mouth.
That could be for several different reasons, but I'm more refering to the figure of speech.
I decided that from now on, for the sake of my documentation of you- I'm going to call you Lucifer.
Partly because of your tramp stamp, but mostly because it's really funny.
I keep thinking about what you said to me the other night on the phone.
You know me, running things through and through over and over.
At first, I was insulted. I mean truly offended by that.
And now, I'm thinking...well maybe that's not so bad.
I mean that's pretty much the way things were headed anyways, right?
I don't know if it was completely necessary for us to have a sit down talk about what we're doing.
But today I am okay. I'm ok with you, with our situation, and with whether or not you decide to return my calls or what have you.
DAY9
I went to Stumptown today with some guy I met in the bar when you weren't answering my calls.
I sat at the table catty corner to where we sat that one day.
If this guy shows up, and is a total bomb, I don't want to be sitting in our spot.
I sip my chai tea and stare at the chair I was sitting in when we had our only enlightening conversation.
You know- the one that made me go have that one drink with you.
The one drink that led to two bottles of wine, and us having sex.
The leather seat is torn and masked with silver tape and is ratty, but somehow I don't remember it looking so uncomfortable before I sat down there.
I stare off into that corner for so long that two shadows of us are sitting there talking
And I'm kind of starting to have some kind of wierd out of body experience flashback type shit
I have quite obviously not had enough sleep, and seriously need to stop relying on espresso as my soul energy source and calorie intake.
I'm starting to feel grossly nostalgic, and want time to stop right now so I can spit on it and tell it to fuck off.
If I could, I would go back, be sitting right there across from that tiny intimate table (knowing what I know now) and slap you.
I would slap you and get up, turn on my heels and casually walk to my car.
I wouldn't look back because there would be no reason to.
I am abruptly broken from my day dream because the guy from the bar is now sitting across from me and I have to start having conversation with someone other than myself.
He is not as cute as I remember, naturally.
He is also a lot bigger than I remember.
More shy, and less entertaining.
He's actually not like anything I remember.
That might have something to do with the fact that you're not the guy I met at the bar.
You are a stranger, that took it upon yourself to sit down across from me and start talking.
If I wasn't so hung over I might have noticed earlier, but I'm fucked now.
You think I'm interested because I entertained your pick up line, and now I'm fucked.
You're not going to go away, are you?