Don't I wish.

Originally written 10.27.2012 Me, basically.

She sat in her dimly lit room, legs crossed, a bowl of fake orange chicken and quinoa on her lap, a beat up copy of Hard Love at her side.

As she chewed her vegetarian meal and listened to Ani Difranco’s calming serenade, clacking away at the keyboard, her mind began to wander.

Her mind slipped out of her left ear, slid down her neck, and took a dive off of her shoulder. It tumbled to the floor, sticking the landing with a great flourish as if there was an audience watching. As she finished her food, her mind began to craft elaborate scenes, leaving her wide-eyed and silent.

Working at a master level, her mind painted detailed instances, ones she hoped would happen but doubted would ever occur. A gorgeous New York privately-owned café rose around her imaginary self, shrouding her in warmth and comfort. A unique yet stylish set of dark clothes wrapped themselves around her supple body. She settled into the scene as it grew complete with her favorite drink and desert awaiting her consumption on the table before her.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed a young man eyeing her curiously. He stood hesitantly, but soon gained confidence and glided across the room as poetry flows off the page. He perched lightly on the chair opposite of her, and quietly asked “Are you who I-I, I think you are?”

She smiled replied “Why yes,”

dramatic pause,

“yes, I am indeed,”

dramatic pause,

“who you think I am.”

He leaned closer, his eyes widening, whispering “You - you’re the one who wrote-“

She placed a finger up to his lips, a coy expression on her face. “Shh, don’t say it. You’ll ruin the moment.”

 A smile curved under her finger, and he gently pushed her hand away. ”I, well, I love your- I love your writings.”

She grinned in return, planting the seed that would grow into a beautifully tragic relationship.