The cold air hit me as I woke up next to a girl with blue eyes that I did not know the name of. I quietly got dressed and left her apartment. It's not that I was an asshole who slept with women and left before I even got their name. I was just alone. Being an author who writes about love gets to be so lonely when you're just alone.
I reached the cafe and ordered myself something strong before pulling out my computer. My main character was being written as an awful person. I'm not sure what really made her that way. Maybe it's the bitter coffee im drinking or the bitterness of me as a person. I sighed lightly and looked at the time. 3:30 am. I focused on the sound of the rain as I was going through extreme writers block. Suddenly the voice of harry styles stopped on the cafe speaker and that familiar voice echoed the room. Don't get me wrong. Im proud. So damn proud of her and her accomplishments. I just couldn't get over the fact that at 17 I was so in love with her thinking I was going to die and now im 22. Alive. And she's married to someone who isn't me.
Her voice stopped and a commercial came on. Giving me the opportunity to leave. I never listen to the radio because she's somehow always on, so I don't know much about new music. I blocked her name from my twitter and avoid using instagram at all costs. I always comfort myself by telling myself she didn't know I was alive but she did. She saw me sitting in this coffee shop. Froze. Grabbed her husband by the hand and walked away. I come around thinking she'd come back someday or maybe I come around because my apartment is so painfully lonely.
How can someone know everything at 17 but nothing at 22.
