This one guys approach to hitting on me:
Act 1. Come off as a total douche
Act 2. Commence conversation even though it’s not positive. Aka getting my foot in the door.
Act 3. Redeeming his douchebaggery.
Like most bad plays I left after act 1. And proceeded to wish him luck in his approach
A life about me me me
Can be pretty lonely
So let’s talk about you…
And how much you like me
A million unfinished thoughts about you
Feelings I’ve had to put down and walk away from
Joyful memories cut short by reality
Uncertainty over what would have been
Overwhelmed by just the thought of you
I sometimes daydream of living a boho lifestyle. My lover and I both artists somehow living in a beautiful home in the forest, but never too far from civilization. All we do is cook, eat, read, write, paint, smoke herb, fuck and somehow manage to live a comfortable life. In the morning we’d have breakfast in bed and read. Quiet but together. Interspersed with moments of long walks and waxing poetic under shady trees. Taking naps in the hazy spring sun. Cool nights of staring up into the stars and creating our own constellations while weaving mythical stories.
He’d draw pictures or snap photographs of me when I wasn’t looking. We’d write stories together, imagining people and places only we knew. I’d kiss him awake in the mornings.
Beyond our home we’d travel to far off places. Exploring the world together. See things thru two different perspectives but always understanding and empathizing.
Oh what a dream that would be.
It’s funny to think a movie made me remember how much I love to read and write non fiction. Those movies were “Stranger than Fiction and “Ruby Sparks”. Two movies with kind of the same idea, what if a writer’s creation came to life?
That reminded me of how as a reader sometimes you breath life into character. You invest your time into a book, rooting for characters and hoping their outcomes will be happy or victorious.
Or how as a writer you imagine characters that sometimes you wish you could be or be with.
It was the summer for loving that she had always dreamed of. Weekends spent naked in bed, the curtains open and the sun shining in on them. He made her breakfast in bed, they read the paper, exchanging sections and quibbling over the grief of the world.
In the lazy heat of the afternoon they would lie together. Holding her close, whispering in her ear and only backing away to kiss her and look at her face as she came. As the weather cooled they would venture out together and discover what joy life had in store. The water beading off of a cold beer, the music and clatter of youth. All the while they never lost sight of each other.
These were days when the worries did not exist or were quietly forgotten. When there were no harsh words but rather the laughter and sweet smiles that only lovers could understand. These were days when he remembered why he loved her in the first place. Days in which he dare not abandon her like he would in the future.
I wonder if you remember that time as well as I did. If it felt the same for you.
It’s hard to be young and caught up in your parents bs.
You can only hope to get out in one piece. Whether it be physically or mentally.
You try to plug your ears and ignore their yelling. But it sinks deep into your soul. To the point where you flinch when other people are merely loud without anger.
I remember once being 14 and visiting a friend’s house. Her father came home angry because she didn’t clean up. My natural instinct was to immediately hide in the closet.