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I tried not to stare in his direction.
I sat in the little coffee shop and tried to pay attention to the music. Really, I did. But it was just so difficult when he was so easily within my gaze, and caught my glances and returned them with easy, gentle smiles. I felt self conscious for looking, yet wanted to see one more smile.
A jittery feeling of excitement coursed through me, and I started thinking possibilities. I started thinking of things that I knew couldn't be. He didn't even live in town, and was only going to be here a few days, I found out in our earlier drink-line chit chat. I didn't think of physical desire, so much as an intense pull to know him. To find out the intricacies of his life and briefly understand them as my own story. To feel a mutual connection with someone, even one whose path only very briefly intersected my own. To embrace the electric thrill of the newness of a person again.
I was brought out of my thoughts by the clapping of the crowd, and an arm that re-settled itself around my waist. I leaned into my date's familiar shoulder and sighed with six months' worth of disappointment.
I tried not to stare in his direction.
A frowning blonde always reminds me of you. No matter the shape, size, shade or personality. What I remember is your frown.
When I wonder why, I tell myself it's because my favorite part about us was trying to get rid of it. I like to think I was a knight in shining armor whose primary responsibility was to make you smile. And I like to think I can tell myself that I was good at it.
But I remember your frown because I was the one who caused it.
Is it possible that this is really happening? I mean, really, REALLY happening?
I keep telling myself, whoa. Settle down. This is the kind of shit that only happens in the movies, in romantic comedies, fairy tales, and sappy love stories.
Two dates. We've been on two dates. I mean, sure, we've been talking back and forth for months, getting to know each other, with casual flirty conversation. But then we officially went on a date. Then we officially went on another. Now there's plans for a third date, and a fourth, and a fifth. And I can't wait.
Is it possible that the kind of shit you only see in the movies is actually happening to me? That hokey, cheesy stuff that you think about when you're a little kid? Is it possible to have gone on two dates with someone, and just know, "This is it. She's the one."
I know, I know... the idea seems crazy to me, too. Sure, that stuff just makes for good stories, good fairytales, good movies. But that doesn't happen in real life, right?
Yet here I am. Thinking things that I would NEVER have thought after two dates. Feeling things that I wasn't sure I'd ever REALLY feel. I can't shake the notion that there's something different about this one. It just feels...different. It just feels...right.
I want to be worth poems.
I want to be worth long, complicated discussions about how much you love me, how much you think about be, and how much you think that a girl like me could never possibly interested in a guy like you.
I want to be the love of your life, and I want you to feel lucky that I do love you.
I want you to be enamored with me, under my spell.
I want your friends to tell you that you’re whipped, and you won’t care because making me happy is more important than their childish accusations.
I realize this sounds selfish. Incredibly selfish and narcissistic. Superbly selfish, narcissistic, and probably a little clingy. Yet I justify it because I have felt this way about someone before. I have been enraptured and to not have it returned, is torture. So I suppose what I want, what I really want …
Is for someone to love me the way I love them.
Sad, isn’t it?
Everybody was surprised the day Benjamin killed himself, but nobody was surprised how.
He had always come to work with a smile on his face and greeted everyone, remembering names of children and conditions of grandparents. And he would listen to everyone bitch and moan and only reply positively, drawing attention to the brighter side of everything. Whenever he left a desk, it's happiness ratio had most certainly increased.
The 26-year-old wasn't particularly good at his job, but he was "above average" and rarely made the same mistake more than twice, which led to a strong record of positive workplace evaluations by both his supervisors and his colleagues. He was never up for a promotion but received a raise every 6 months.
The office was a casual workplace, but Benjamin was almost always dressed up in a tie. While his co-workers felt choked in such formalwear, Benjamin said it always felt natural.
Often late for work, but never more than an hour, his boss was surprised but not worried when he didn't come in that Monday. He decided to let it slide and didn't even give the customary call to see where he was. In his mind, Benjamin was too tied up in his work and the day skipping work would probably be good for him. He also knew the young man would probably just work extra hours in order to meet his full-time commitment. Later, the coroner's report revealed that if he'd called Benjamin, he might have given him a sign.
At 9:30 a.m. Tuesday, police found Benjamin hanged from the rafters in his garage. He was dressed for work and the coroner set the time of death at about 3 on Monday afternoon.
Under the chair Benjamin had kicked out from beneath himself was a tie, still knotted from when he dressed himself Monday morning. It was the only item out of place in a pristine living arrangement; Benjamin never left a tie knotted after he removed it from his neck. But in his final moments, Benjamin seemed to have finally let loose by leaving this knot tied as he prepared another.
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